Despite Their Intentions
by Cheshire6845
Summary: A/U Justin Tighe and the Rangers never rescued Ensign Janeway and Admiral Paris from the Cardassians.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing in any of the Trek universes. Obviously.

 **Notes:** Some of these notes are important unlike the disclaimer. This is a **dark** A/U story. It's also going to get pretty twisted in places so don't read if you aren't into that. It probably covers multiple triggers.  You have now been warned. The story is complete, but will be posted in parts, one part in particular will not be here on ff net but more on that later. No worries that the story will go unfinished. The rating for this story is also going to change. After chapter 1, the rating will go up to M. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy.

Many thanks to Froot for generously stepping up and doing a bang-up beta job for me on this one. That being said, as usual, all mistakes are mine cause I played with it after she fixed it the first time.

* * *

 _"This may get unpleasant for us, Ensign. Do your best, but don't be unnecessarily heroic." – Admiral Owen Paris (Mosaic by Jeri Taylor)_

 **Despite Their Intentions**

"You requested this meeting, Gul Lavik. What is it that you would like to discuss?"

She heard her father's voice. But that wasn't right. Her father wouldn't be in her bedroom. It was just a trick of her subconscious, part of a dream that she was still waking up from.

"The Cardassian Empire has annexed several colonies recently and due to other recent events it was determined that, as a matter of good faith, we should inform the Federation of our new boundaries."

Something wasn't right. Aside from the fact that her entire body ached and she felt like she was trying to think her way through a fog, there was still something off. Why was anyone in her quarters discussing the Cardassian Empire?

"You claim to have annexed Urtea II and its moons," her father said. "Urtea is a Federation system."

"It was," the voice replied. "Now all of the Urtea system falls under the Cardassian Empire. Their people have sworn allegiance to us."

Urtea II. That sounded familiar. If she could just remember, something about Urtea was there in her mind. She could feel it. And why did she feel so horrible? Tarkelian flu hadn't even made her ache this much and it had taken her three weeks to shake it.

"You're also making claims regarding the capture of two Federation spies?" her father asked. "What nonsense is this, Gul?"

"I suppose it could be nonsense. The two alleged officers were wearing Federation uniforms, flying a Federation-marked shuttle, and claimed Federation ranks at the time of their capture. I suppose they could have been lying," Gul Lavik allowed. "The girl was quite young to be a Starfleet officer. When questioned, she claimed it was her first deep space mission."

Kathryn finally got her eyes open and realized she was not in her quarters. She had no idea where she was. The only thing that became clearer was the conversation she was hearing. A viewscreen built into the wall showed a typical Starfleet conference room and her father along with two captains and one of his long time aides sat at the end of the long table.

"You claim to have two Federation officers in your custody?" Edward Janeway asked, his voice harder than Kathryn had ever heard it. "What are their names and ranks?"

"Admiral Owen Paris and Ensign Kathryn Janeway…oh," Gul Lavik paused. "I apologize, Admiral. I hadn't made the familial connection. Is the ensign your daughter?"

She blinked, trying to focus on the screen. Her father's face was tight and the cold look in his eyes was one she was thankful had never been directed at her. Black spots danced in her vision as she tried to push herself up to see him better.

"Admiral Paris and Ensign Janeway were killed in a shuttle accident six weeks ago," her father warned. "Take care in what you claim next, Gul."

Six weeks! Kathryn swung her legs off the small bunk and had to close her eyes as the room spun and her stomach lurched. Disjointed images swam in her vision. Dark clothes she had never seen before. Stone walls. A single squared light in the back wall. Was she in a cell? Where was her uniform? How did she get here?

"Then you claim the officers were indeed yours?" Gul Lavik asked. "My supervisors will be glad to hear that. Our government was unconvinced that the Federation would so blatantly attempt to place spies on one of our own planets-"

"Admiral Paris and Ensign Janeway were on a scientific mission to retrieve sensor data from a moon. They were not spies," the captain seated next to Admiral Janeway interrupted.

"They were caught in possession of highly technological sensor equipment that had recorded far more than simple stellar phenomena, Captain," Gul Lavik insisted. "They had files showing Cardassian ship movements, in-depth scans of passing Cardassian ships, as well as long range scanning equipment calibrated to identify military depots on neighboring planets that are none of the Federation's concern."

She was starting to remember. The shuttle mission, Admiral Paris, halo objects. The Urtea II moon. She scrubbed a hand over her face as she tried to piece her memory together. A Cardassian ship had appeared from behind the moon.

"But we would not expect you to believe us. We brought proof." Gul Lavik said and pushed a data PADD across the table towards the Federation officers. "They confessed."

And then she heard her own voice.

"Ensign Kathryn Janeway."

A male voice asked, "Where are you stationed?"

"Federation Starship Icarus."

"What is your position on the Federation Starship Icarus?"

"Science Officer."

"Who is your commanding officer?"

"Admiral Owen Paris."

"What is your mission?"

"To study massive compact halo objects."

"Do you have a secondary mission?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"To obtain information regarding Cardassian military movements."

It felt like a brick had just been dropped into her gut. It was her voice. Monotone. Drugged probably. But it had been her speaking. The recording angle only showed her father and the other officers as they watched the small device, but she saw the way his knuckles whitened.

"State your name and rank," a different male voice demanded.

"Admiral Owen Paris."

"What is your position?"

"Commanding officer of the Federation Starship Icarus."

"What is your mission?"

"Obtain information regarding Cardassian military under the guise of studying massive compact halo objects."

"And who will you report your information to?"

"Admiral Alynna Nechayev. Starfleet Intelligence."

Her father shut off the recording and dropped the PADD to the table. Kathryn held her breath as she continued to watch; it was hard to dispute evidence like that. She felt horrible that she had so easily given up the information and even worse that her father had seen her failure. It was small consolation that Admiral Paris had apparently fared no better. It only then occurred to her to wonder where he currently was. And what other information they had coerced from him. The dread growing in the pit of her stomach worsened when she realized she had no memory of anything she had confessed to. She had no memory of anything since the shuttle.

Her father pushed to his feet and threw the PADD across the table towards the Cardassian. "How dare you interrogate two Starfleet officers and then come in here demanding concessions? You will return the two officers to us immediately. Then, and only then, will we even consider speaking with you about other matters."

Her heart soared at her father's demand. He was going to save her and Admiral Paris. It was a childish whimsy, but the idea of her father swooping in and delivering her out of this cell had her grinning as the Cardassian also got to his feet, the camera angle shifting with him as he put distance between himself and her father.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Admiral," Gul Lavik said. "We have no officers to return. Admiral Paris and Ensign Janeway were found guilty of spying on the Cardassian Empire, a crime punishable by death. Your daughter was executed three weeks ago after we determined she had no further useful information, and Admiral Paris' sentence was carried out yesterday morning."

It felt like her heart seized in her chest and she was glad she was still seated. Admiral Paris was dead. No. After all, she was obviously still alive. She wouldn't believe Lavik's lies; her father would never believe him. Not without proof. Not without…

"Return their bodies to us," her father demanded.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The bodies have already been incinerated." The camera angle jostled again as Lavik reached into a compartment on his belt. "However, we thought you may require further proof." He slid two vials across the surface of the table and into her father's hand. "Those vials contain the third molar of both Owen Paris and Kathryn Janeway. I believe they will supply you with enough genetic evidence to properly identify their source. If your medical sciences are as adapt as we believe them to be, you will also be able to identify that the teeth were removed after death had already occurred."

Her hand flew up to her cheek. She pressed against the side of her mouth, her tongue surveying her rows of teeth. She felt a tender half-healed hole on the upper left side of her jaw. The wound wasn't fresh, but the nausea in her stomach doubled at the idea of not remembering something as traumatic as that. What else didn't she know?

"If what you say is true, Gul Lavik," her father said quietly, and she shifted her eyes back to the screen to see her father staring at the two vials he held in his hand, "then you've just started a war."

The viewscreen blinked off leaving her stunned, blinking against the sudden darkness. Light flared into existence outside her cell, illuminating a hallway and the edge of what she assumed was a force field. A tall, thin Cardassian stood on the other side of it, staring in at her.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

She didn't know any Cardassians; why would she know him? But he looked… something about him was familiar. She got to her feet, moving closer to him, her muscles stiffly protesting any sudden movements.

"Should I?" she asked.

He smiled, not unkindly. "We've spent the last six weeks together. Unfortunately, the truth serum we used on you during that time has a nasty side effect. It blocks memory formation in most species."

She was missing six weeks. Six weeks in the care of Cardassians. She swallowed tightly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Gul Camet." He bowed slightly at the waist. "And according to our official records, you are Prisoner 1392, a twenty-five year old female Terran, formerly of Starfleet, formerly of Earth." He checked the PADD he held in his hands and made a notation on it. "I think I'll call you Twenty-five; it falls off the tongue a little easier than your official designation."

"My official designation is Kathryn Janeway." Her chin tilted upwards. "I'm a Starfleet ensign and a citizen of the United Federation of Planets."

"According to Federation records, Kathryn Janeway is dead. The Cardassian Empire executed her three weeks ago. And according to Cardassian records, Kathryn Janeway is dead." He gestured towards the blackened viewscreen. "I had hoped showing you the recording would help you reconcile that. The person you were is gone. I'm told that your family on Earth held a memorial service in your name more than a month ago. For all intents and purposes, for anyone that ever knew you before you came to Cardassian space, Kathryn Janeway is dead. "

His calm rational demeanor and cold recitation of facts scared her more than she ever wanted to admit, but she shook her head. "No. I'm alive. And my name is Kathryn. Janeway."

He sighed. "That's the problem with using the truth serum. Once it wears off, the subject has forgotten everything they've been taught, and we have to start over from the beginning." He pulled a boxy controller off his belt. "If you can, please, try not to scream."

He pressed the top button on the controller and excruciating pain flared across her entire body. She collapsed to the floor, muscles seizing, her throat constricting even as she heard the scream rip from her body. She was blinded by the pain it was so intense, radiating out and back again along her nerves, pulsing intensity bubbling through her veins. Then like a power conduit shutting off, it stopped, leaving her trembling and panting on the floor as echoes of the current skittered along her skin.

Camet knelt opposite her on the other side of the force field. "I'm sorry, Twenty-five, but I know you better than you know yourself. I know what it will take to break you." He let her see the controller was still in his hand. "Try to accept your fate."

He pressed the button again and her world shattered into white.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** Friendly reminder: The story rating has now gone up to M.

* * *

Camet paused at the doorway of the interview room and straightened his tunic. His appearance needed to be immaculate. After seventy-five hours with no sleep, he doubted his subject could even see clearly anymore, but he didn't want to give away any visual clues of how much time had passed. The guards' shifts had been randomized, some shortened, some extended; the partners had even been varied so that some repeated shifts together and some didn't. Her body knew time had passed, but there had been a careful structure put in place to ensure she had no way of accurately tracking it. Satisfied with his appearance, Camet keyed in his code and entered.

Three people occupied the room. His subject stood naked near the center of the room with a guard standing uncomfortably close behind her. A second guard sat at a small desk, making notations on a device. He looked up and immediately got to his feet at the sight of Camet.

Camet acknowledged him but his attention was fixed on his subject. He wanted to see her reaction to his arrival. She eyed him when he entered, then swayed slightly and caught herself before re-centering her attention on the far wall. The guard at her back whispered something in her ear that caused only the briefest of flinches and Camet was reminded of seeing someone annoyed by an insect.

He accepted the PADD from the guard at his side. "How was the shift?"

"We had to make several corrections, almost double from the previous shift. Each incident and the punishment inflicted are noted."

Camet skimmed the notations. Subject was nodding off without permission, not responding immediately to direct questioning, failing to obey initial instructions, distracted: all expected, really. Cognitive function deteriorated so quickly with fatigue. The neural interface had been used in three-second bursts to gain her attention when needed. Slaps, loud noises, cold water, and verbal threats had also been used as motivations.

"Did you have to follow through on any verbal threats?" Camet asked.

"Several times, Gul."

He nodded. "And did her answers to the questions remain consistent?"

"She's still hesitating on questions twelve and seventeen."

"Familial bonds," Camet said, pleased with her continued reluctance. The stronger the bonds the more impactful it was to break them.

He took a few minutes to observe her more closely. Involuntary muscle tremors, sporadic twitches, both lingering effects of the neural energy she was being subjected to on a daily basis as well as exhaustion. Her knees were scraped and bruised from multiple falls; he imagined the palms of her hands weren't faring much better. As he watched, she stumbled forward a step and flailed a moment before regaining her balance. She gave her head a hard shake and blinked multiple times.

"She's been doing that several times an hour," the guard reported quietly at his side.

"Well, she's been awake a long time," Camet replied. "I'm sure she's tired."

"She's already lasted twice the amount of time the old man managed." There was a grudging respect in the guard's tone.

"She's young," Camet reasoned and moved forward to stand in front of her. "Hello, Twenty-five, how are you feeling?"

It was the same greeting he gave her every time he entered the room. Her eyes met his, the once crystal blue now grey and dull with fatigue. She no longer glared but he could still see a palpable fury banked in her gaze. "I'm fine, Gul."

It was the same answer she'd been giving for three days now. The exchange had taken place between them more than a hundred times. He smiled. "For some reason, I doubt your sincerity."

She didn't respond. The quips that had fallen so easily from her tongue on previous days now required more energy than she could spare.

"You're trembling, Twenty-five. Are you tired?"

She blinked, refocused on him. It was a new question. "Yes."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't," he admitted. "Would you like to sit down?"

She gave her head another small shake and then frowned at him.

He repeated the question.

Her gaze drifted towards the desk and the chairs on either side of it. She nodded jerkily. "Yes."

"When is the last time you slept?"

She shifted her weight, flinching. "I-I don't know, Gul."

"How long have you been standing?"

She shook her head slowly, her eyes closing ever so briefly. "I don't know, Gul."

"A long time?"

She nodded.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink in all that time?"

Her gaze hardened, briefly shedding its lethargy. "I've had water, Gul."

She'd been forced to drink quite a bit of water the first day. Every shift had given her eight ounces and there had been twelve shifts the first day.

"And have you been allowed to relieve yourself?" he asked, enjoying the way blood rushed to the surface of her face and chest, tingeing her pale skin a lovely shade of pink.

She looked past him towards the guard at his shoulder. "I was provided a bucket."

"I assume that means yes," he said, calmly reminding her of the proper way to respond to him.

"Yes, Gul."

She didn't suffer indignities well, and pride was something he always enjoyed stripping away from people. He shifted gears and took a long look down her body, pausing at certain areas and going so far as to circle her. It made her acutely uncomfortable, but it wasn't entirely for show. He really was going to have to start feeding her actual rations or she'd be nothing but skin and bone within two weeks. The tremors were more frequent than they should have been as well; a sure sign her body needed a break from the neural device. If they kept pushing her at the same rate they'd been going, she'd stroke out within the month.

He arrived back in front of her amused at her fixed stare on the far wall. Feigned indifference only lasted so long, and the pink blush still staining her chest indicated she was feeling far from indifferent. He stepped closer to her and gripped her upper arm; she sucked in a surprised breath at the contact. He withheld a grin; he knew every part of her body was tender and hypersensitive because of the neural device. He patted her flat stomach, ran a hand down her flank, and slapped her thigh. A pained hiss escaped through her teeth when he cupped one of her breasts, but her eyes remained determinedly fixed on some distant point.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, Twenty-five," he said, making a note on his device, "but we're going to have to refrain from using the neural device on you for a few days." In actuality, she only needed about a twelve hour break for the residual energy to dissipate. "I don't want to risk permanently damaging you."

She looked as though he had presented her with a perfectly prepared plate of warm _tojal_. The relief in her expression was poorly concealed even after she realized she had looked directly at him.

"Yes, I think your body could use some rest and some food," he continued. "Guard, would you see about having some rations brought in for her and some clothing as well?"

The guard nodded and left to do the gul's bidding. Camet saw his subject's relief begin to be replaced by wariness. She was beginning to learn his generosity always had motive. He moved over to the desk and propped his hip against it, kicking the chair out slightly. "Join me, Twenty-five."

She hesitated long enough for the guard behind her to prod her forwards. Her gait was stiff as she approached the desk area.

Camet gestured at the chair again. "Have a seat."

She grasped the back of the chair, glanced back at the guard, and slowly lowered herself to the seat. She grimaced as her joints audibly popped and cracked when she bent them, and she stiffened as her bare skin touched the cool metal. Her posture relaxed by a fraction when she leaned against the back of the chair.

"Thank you, Gul."

He was pleased. He hadn't expected her to acknowledge his gift without direction to do so. As a reward, he gave her two full minutes to relax. He wasn't worried about the guard returning until he called for him, so he had the time. Her eyes closed almost immediately and as soon as he saw her head begin to drop, he cleared his throat loudly.

"While we're waiting," he said, enjoying the way her head jerked up, "I thought we could go over a few questions."

She straightened marginally, grimacing and scrubbing a hand over her face. "Of course, Gul."

He skipped straight to question twelve. "Who is Phoebe Janeway?"

She flinched, pushed herself straighter in the chair. "P-phoebe was my sister."

"Tell me about her." Camet had now completely deviated from the script. He was supposed to ask questions, and she was supposed to answer. The open-ended command had her grasping for the proper response.

"What do you want to know?"

Camet raised his hand to hold off the guard from striking her.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, her body shifted reflexively away from the guard. "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions."

Camet spread his hands magnanimously. "We're just talking. It's all right." He waited. "So, tell me something about your sister."

"She's an artist," she blurted, grasping for information she could usually recall without difficulty.

Camet knew that, of course. He knew every fact and detail about his subject's family. Under the persuasion of the truth serum, she had told him every detail of her life that he'd cared to ask about. But part of his process now was to make her tell him every detail without the aid of the truth serum. Logically, she must have known that she had answered questions under its influence, but he doubted she had any idea just how much she had revealed.

"What sort of artist is she?" he asked conversationally. "Does she do sculpting or painting? Music perhaps?"

"Painting."

"Is she any good at it?"

"She's going to school for it."

He leaned towards her as though they were speaking as friends. "But is she any good?"

His subject nodded. "I think so."

"You think so," he repeated. "Do you like her paintings?"

She hesitated, shrugged. "She's a bit too abstract for me, but I enjoy her realist work."

Question seventeen. "Where does Phoebe go to school?"

"The Art Institute of Andoria in San Fran…" she trailed off, paling, looking horrified.

Camet smiled; he hadn't quite phrased the question the way she'd become accustomed to hearing it. "So, that's where we can find her. Good." He entered the information on his PADD. "I'm sure there can't be too many Phoebe Janeways enrolled there. She should be easy enough to locate."

"You stay away from her," Twenty-five growled, pushing herself up from the chair. "You leave her alone. She isn't even in-"

Camet was quite sure Twenty-five had been about to say that her sister wasn't in Starfleet, but she had taken a step towards him and that had been more than enough for the guard to react. The guard wasn't excessive in his punishment, but when he finished Twenty-five lay curled on the floor, gasping for breath. Camet nodded his approval.

He sighed theatrically and knelt near her head, smoothing her hair back. "I can see we're going to have to restrain you for the next session. A pity, you'd almost earned your clothes back."

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** Remember when I said this was going to be a dark alternate universe? I meant it.

* * *

"Chains? Really?" she asked, examining the manacle encircling her wrist.

"They are an ancient method of restraint, but I do like their aesthetic value over force fields," Camet said. The visual representation of her captivity was a bonus; he was mostly interested in allowing her the bit of play that chains allowed over force fields.

Given the bare minimum amount of caloric intake and a period of four hours to rest, his subject had gotten some of her gumption back. It wouldn't last; her stamina had degraded significantly in the past two weeks, but he was glad to see the spirit was still willing. Today's session would go far towards breaking that.

"Are you ready to begin your next session?"

She remained seated on the floor, her back against the wall. "Do I have a choice?"

He pretended to consider that. "I suppose we could delay the session I had in mind. The data might be a bit skewed if we begin the next endurance trial so soon, but we do want to see how you will fare with exposure to colder temperatures." He watched her flinch and made a note to himself to actually devise a cold trial for her. "Which session would you prefer to begin? Shall we stay here or relocate to the environmental study?"

"What's the session in here going to be?" she asked.

He didn't answer but mentally added ten minutes to her next punishment. She knew she wasn't supposed to ask questions. He'd entertained her earlier retort because it amused him. Now she was simply wasting his time.

She picked up on his irritation. "My apologies, Gul. I did not mean to question you."

He added another ten minutes. She may not have meant her retort as a serious query, but her question about the session's content had been intentional. "You've already earned an extra twenty minutes for your next punishment by questioning me. If you make me repeat myself regarding which session you choose to participate in, I will double your time."

He saw her eyes widen and thought for sure she was about to apologize again and attempt to explain away her actions, but she caught herself at the last second. She looked down at her hands instead. "I would like to remain here, Gul."

"Good. I do appreciate it when my subjects prove they aren't _entirely_ incapable of learning," he said. He dragged his chair closer to her position, yet still well out of her reach, and sat down. "Twenty-five, what were you doing on Urtea II's moon?"

She straightened marginally, preparing to begin another session as usual. "We were retrieving sensor data-"

Camet waved her off, shutting down her Starfleet public release statement before she could finish it. He'd heard it enough times from her mouth to know she hadn't given the mission a second thought. "No, you misunderstand my question, Twenty-five. I want to know why _you_ were in that shuttlecraft."

She frowned. "I was the science officer and we were retrieving sensor data regarding the-"

"Compact halo objects, yes, I know, but that still doesn't explain your presence that day. You aren't an engineer; you aren't a pilot. You're a scientist. Your job is to analyze the data, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"As a science officer, as _the_ science officer for your ship, it wasn't necessary for you to personally collect the data from your alleged sensor nets," he pointed out. "So, why were _you_ out there?"

"I am fully qualified to retrieve sensor readings, Gul. I also have my certification as a shuttle pilot. Those may not have been my primary assignments, but they are collateral duties that I am qualified to carry out." She shrugged. "There was no reason I shouldn't have been on that shuttle."

"No reason?" he repeated and looked around the room they occupied. "No reason except perhaps the inherent danger of ending up in a place like this and finding yourself in a situation that, as a barely-trained science officer, you were wholly unprepared for."

She took umbrage with his slight against her abilities. "We were on a scientific mission. As the science officer, I had every right to be there. We had no idea Cardassians would take us prisoner and torture us because of the collection of scientific data."

"Ah, but we both know you were collecting more than just scientific data," he said. "Tell me; did you volunteer to go on the shuttle mission that day?"

"No, but I-"

"So, Admiral Paris ordered you to accompany him?"

"Yes, if I remember-"

"Was he your commanding officer that day?"

"Yes."

"And what are the responsibilities of a commanding officer?"

She frowned. "To ensure the completion of assigned missions-"

"And what about his responsibility to you?"

"To me?" She shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Gul."

Camet scrolled through information on his PADD and began to read from it. "Article 1: A commanding officer has a continued responsibility towards the safety, well-being, and efficiency of his entire command." He looked up from the PADD and considered her. "Well, Paris didn't keep you very safe nor show much concern for your well-being when he ordered you to accompany him, did he?"

"As the junior officer, it was my duty to protect him."

"Article 4: The commanding officer will exercise leadership through personal example, moral responsibility, and judicious attention to the welfare of persons under their control or supervision," Camet read. "Judicious attention to the welfare… well, he certainly showed that when he decided that an unarmed shuttle occupied by an old man and a young woman should fly directly into Cardassian territory."

"We didn't know it was considered your territory."

"You're missing the point, Twenty-five."

"Enlighten me."

He started to explain then stopped, shook his head. "No, you'll never believe me. I think you deserve to hear it from the man himself." He looked over his shoulder at the guard waiting near the door. "Have the old man brought in. I think it's time Twenty-five learned why she's really here."

She watched the door in a half-confused, half-horrified gaze as Camet watched her. It didn't take the guards long to return, dragging a disheveled old man between them. At first, she looked to Camet in confusion, not recognizing her former mentor.

But then… "Ad-Admiral Paris?"

Camet watched dispassionately as the broken shell of a once-proud Starfleet officer was brought in front of him. Breaking the admiral hadn't been very fulfilling or time consuming, but some of the information the he'd given up about Starfleet defenses had been deemed quite useful. Camet leaned forward slightly, trying to see the man's eyes, but the old man kept his head bowed so low it was impossible. "Just put him on the chair."

As one guard dragged the chair over from the far wall, Camet glanced at his real subject of interest. She was crouched halfway between standing and sitting. Her manacled hand was braced against the wall as she tried to push herself up. She caught him looking. "What the hell have you done to him?"

Camet ignored her question as the guards dropped the old man into a chair and took a few steps back. He slumped bonelessly, head lowered but conscious, the beige rags he wore swallowing his frame. The once barrel-chested Terran now looked exactly like what he truly was, a weak and pathetic excuse for a man.

"State your designation, prisoner," Camet ordered, "and look up when you speak to me."

The shaggy grey head slowly lifted from its tucked position. "Prisoner 1391."

"Oh God," Twenty-five whispered, covering her mouth with her hand at his scratchy, barely recognizable voice.

Camet didn't acknowledge her. "What is your name?"

The old man flinched. "Not supposed to say a name."

"I'm giving you permission, 1391," Camet instructed. "Tell us your name."

"Owen," he whispered.

"And what were you before you were here, Owen?"

"Starfleet… admiral."

"And what are you now?"

"Nothing. Owen Paris is dead."

"Good. That's right, 1391," he said, patting the man's bowed head like a pet. "Now, I want you to look to your left and tell me what you see."

Twenty-five stood frozen against the wall, tears streamed down her face, as the old man slowly turned to see her. Camet noted that for the first time in days, she attempted to cover her nudity.

The old admiral frowned when he looked at her and turned back to Camet. "A woman."

"Do you know her?"

He glanced sideways at her again and shrugged.

"Don't lie to me, prisoner."

Owen flinched at the sharp voice. "I know her."

"Tell me who she is."

"Katie."

Camet watched her from the corner of his eye as she slid back down the wall, one hand clenched in front of her mouth. "And who is Katie?"

Owen scratched absently at the back of his hand. "She was an ensign."

"Why is Katie here?"

He glanced again in her direction. "It's my fault she's here."

"Admiral, no…" she whispered.

"That's right," Camet said. "You put Katie in danger. Why?"

He shrugged. "Wanted to spend time with her."

"But you knew we were out there, didn't you?"

Slowly, Owen nodded.

Camet saw the surprise in Twenty-five's face. "And did you know what would happen if we captured your shuttle?"

"Yes."

"And yet you came anyway." He watched his real subject as he asked his next question. "Owen, do you know what we're going to do to Katie?"

Owen hesitated but then nodded again.

"Do you want me to tell you what we've already done to her?"

"No. No." He shook his head, refusing to look at his former protégé. "No, don't want to know."

Camet leaned back in his seat. "Are you in pain right now, 1391?"

He hesitated before nodding jerkily. "Yes."

Camet held up the control box for the neural device. "Do you recognize this?"

The old admiral saw the control and started trembling. "Please…d-don't."

"This causes pain, doesn't it, Owen?"

He nodded.

"Leave him alone," she said, drawing looks from everyone in the room except Owen.

Camet smiled. "I tell you what, Owen. I'll give you a choice. I can either hurt you, or I can hurt Katie. You decide."

"Hurt me," Twenty-five said immediately, wincing as she tried to get back to her feet. "Leave him alone. There's nothing more you can do to him."

Camet ignored her. "Who shall I hurt, _Owen_? You or Katie?"

Owen doubled over in the chair, his hands pulling at his hair as he rocked. He shook his head. "No, no, no, no, no, no."

"Make a decision, prisoner," Camet said forcefully. "Choose. Do you want to experience more pain?"

"No," he moaned.

"Leave him alone!"

"Shall I hurt Katie instead?"

He didn't answer.

"Answer me, Owen! Who am I going to hurt? You? Or her?"

"HER!"

The old admiral's voice thundered in the small room, unrecognizable from what it once was, but still deafening and clear to his tormentors and former student. He stood shakily on his feet, pointing at her. They all watched as his hand slowly dropped to his side and tears began to roll down his sunken, whiskered face. "I'm sorry, Katie. But I can't… I just… I can't."

He slowly crumpled to the floor, muttering over and over as he pulled at his hair. Camet turned to his true subject. Her watery eyes were still fixed on her old mentor, watching as he fell apart on the floor in front of her. She sniffed, her face contorting for a second, before she nodded seemingly to him. She took a deep breath and slowly raised her eyes to Camet. "Do it."

He was impressed, but he shook his head, smiling. "Oh, I'm not going to be the one to do it. He is."

The guards jumped into action, pulling Owen to his feet in front of Camet and his former protégé. Camet shoved the control box into Owen's hand and wrapped the old man's brittle fingers around the control. "Push the button, Owen. Hurt her."

The old man looked dumbly down at the control box then back at Camet. "What?"

"Push the button," Camet instructed. _"Save_ yourself. Inflict pain on Katie."

"Do it, Admiral," she said.

"Yes, Admiral, do it," Camet sneered. "Push the button. Activate Katie's device. _Hurt her_."

The old man looked at her, his cloudy blue eyes meeting hers for the first time. She nodded, encouraging him to save himself.

"Push the button, Admiral," Camet repeated, "or I promise you, I will." He held up the second controller.

Owen looked down. "I'm sorry, Katie."

"It's okay," she said, steeling herself for the onslaught.

He pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again. And again. He smashed his thumb against the controller until Camet laughed.

"I completely forgot," Camet said, chuckling. "I promised Twenty-five her neural device wouldn't be used for the next two days." He looked at her and smiled. "I guess we'll have to activate his device after all."

Camet pushed the button on the controller he still held. Owen collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain as his already damaged vocal cords choked out a scream.

"Admiral!" she cried, lunging towards him but brought up short by the chain securing her to the wall. "Please, no!"

They could hear the distinct snap of a bone as the old man thrashed about on the floor.

"Damn you, Camet! God damn you to hell you son of a bitch!" she shouted, pulling against her chain, desperately trying to reach her mentor.

Camet switched the neural device off. He watched his subject sink to her knees as close as she could get to the old man, trying to talk to him. The scent of urine filled the room and Camet crinkled his nose at it. It was times like these he was glad he was a gul.

He handed the control box to one of the guards. "Activate it in one minute intervals. One minute on, one minute off, until he strokes out."

"What!" Twenty-five cried, looking up at him. "No! No, Gul, don't do this. _Please_ don't do this."

Camet started towards the door.

"Camet! Please! I'm begging you! Don't do this," she cried. "I'll do anything you want, just please, let him live."

He walked back to her, allowing her the brief moment of hope before he spoke. "He betrayed you, Twenty-five. Don't you see that? He was willing to let _little_ Katie die in his place. He's a coward." Camet shook his head. "He doesn't deserve to live. However, I am not without a heart." He looked to the guard. "Once the old man is dead, she may be released from her restraints and allowed to stay with the body overnight."

Owen's renewed screams followed Camet out the door and down the corridor. It had been a very good session.

* * *

 **.**

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 **Notes:** The next chapter that I wrote pretty much puts this story over the threshold of what ff net will allow so I won't be posting it here. It will be posted under the same story title on the Pathfinder site at fictioning dot net. Let's consider that version to be NC-17 and this version is R. You will not have to read the NC-17 version to be able to continue reading the story here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes:** For anyone choosing to read only the R rated version of the story, the omitted chapter covered an incident that occurred at Janeway's six month anniversary of being a prisoner. And thank you to everyone still reading!

* * *

The operative's eyes were open, he sat respectfully upright in his chair, but the speaker he was allegedly watching could've been discussing the proper movements of a waltz for all that he was listening. Instead, he was reciting Klingon language lessons in his head. He'd only recently begun the lessons and found the language to be rather coarse. It strained his vocal chords. For a person like him who relied so much on being able to speak, anything that affected his voice was mildly disturbing.

The audience broke into polite applause and he joined in, noting how everyone in attendance applauded in the most noncommittal way. They were being forced to sit through a speech regarding the facility's capabilities and offerings, but they had no intention of publicly showing their support. That would only occur if and when it would benefit their intentions to do so. And nothing Gul Camet had presented so far had hooked his audience into believing he was their best hope of achieving greatness.

The Obsidian Order operative frowned as Camet stood before the assembled audience prattling on about his favorite subjects. The operative was neither impressed nor interested. He visited the facility often enough; it was a great training ground for interrogation methods, and he'd met with Camet on several of those occasions. He'd found the meetings to be boring and unimaginative.

Despite his brilliance, Camet had no head for politics, hence his current uninterested audience. He didn't care what anyone else was working on or was interested in. He only concerned himself with his own projects and immersed himself wholly within them, usually surfacing months later to find to his utter surprise that the world had moved on without him. The fact that he was the one conducting the presentation about the facility's continued usefulness to the Empire was quite telling.

Funds were either in dire straits or the brilliant scientist had some new project that he wanted to show off. A quick scan of the apathetic audience indicated the former, but something about Camet's energy made the operative consider that it was actually the latter. If only Camet would have the good grace to arrive at his point…

"And now, I present to you Prisoner 1392."

It was well documented that there were several Terrans being held prisoner on Cardassia Prime at any given time. It was less well known that there were more than a few undocumented Terran prisoners being held in the facility. But even the operative was surprised to see a _female_ Terran enter the room.

"I call her 'Twenty-five,'" Camet boasted, grinning at his now attentive audience.

She didn't seem phased by the sudden scrutiny of over a dozen Cardassians, but the operative saw that her gaze wasn't on them. She seemed fixed on some distant point on the back wall, as she stood resolutely beside Camet. She wore the simple shoes and pants of a prisoner, but her shirt was sleeveless and showed off pale, smooth arms that were not restrained. The lack of restraints explained the guard's continued presence behind her and Camet.

"Twenty-five, if you would, please, go ahead and lie down on the biobed." Camet gestured towards the biobed.

She obeyed his command, sliding into a seated position on the bed before swinging her legs up onto its surface. The operative noticed the slightest hesitation as she took a deep breath before lying down so that she was staring up at the ceiling. She shifted once against the bed and then lay still.

"We're going to give you a demonstration today of the latest and greatest modifications we've made to the neural adapter." Camet gestured the guard forward, and he began engaging force fields over the prisoner's ankles and wrists. "With Twenty-five's help, I will show you just how devastating a small device can be." He grinned, pleased he had the audience's attention and tilted the bed to a slightly upright position. "But first, I'd like to include you all in a short ceremony. You see, it is Twenty-five's one year anniversary as a guest of Cardassia."

Camet's statement drew the first real reaction the operative had seen from the prisoner. She turned her head to stare at Camet, clearly surprised. Camet patted her on the shoulder as if they were old friends. "That's right, Twenty-five. You've earned your first mark." He reached for an instrument on his cart and even without moving, it was clear she was straining to watch him. "For every year of your service to the Empire, we give you a mark, or a symbol, really, that shows how resilient you are." He flicked on the laser scalpel and adjusted a setting on the force field, twisting her left arm so that it was lying palm up. He glanced towards her face as he lowered the scalpel almost into place. "Try not to scream."

Starting at her wrist, he sliced open a six-centimeter-long line towards her elbow. Her hand tightened into a fist and her head visibly pressed back against the biobed, but she didn't make a sound. Camet turned off the scalpel and dabbed at the red blood seeping out of her pale flesh. The guard handed him a dark vial which he uncapped and held theatrically over the open wound before pouring its contents into the full length of the cut he'd made.

This time it was easy to see the prisoner jerk against the restraints, all of her muscles straining as her back arched off the table. She groaned in the back of her throat, teeth clenched tightly together as the faint scent of burned flesh began to fill the air.

"Standard marking acid," Camet said and capped the bottle, resting his hand once again on her shoulder. He looked at his crowd. "She took that well, don't you think?"

There were a few grunts of approval and a smattering of applause as the prisoner's body finally began to relax again, sinking back onto the bed. She took a few open-mouthed, shuddering breaths as her body calmed and Camet nodded in apparent approval.

"I did that today so that you could see for yourselves just what kind of pain our prisoner can tolerate. Not bad, right?" Camet received a few nods and he held up a boxy looking controller. "Now we'll move on to the part of the demonstration that I know you've all been waiting to see."

Within minutes the woman's screams began to echo through the room.

* * *

Several hours later, during the middle of what passed for the night shift, the operative finally found himself standing outside the woman's cell. He watched her for several minutes, sprawled seemingly unconscious on the cell's small bunk, likely in the same position in which she'd been dumped after Camet's public session with her. He was impressed the guards had put her on the bed and not simply left her on the floor. It showed they had perhaps some grain of respect for her.

Camet's presentation of the neural adapter had gone on for another hour after the marking ceremony. It seems they'd installed new settings on the device, all of which he'd demonstrated for his audience. All of the settings, including the lowest intensity, had made his subject scream. Although to her credit, she had withstood the lowest setting for several awkward minutes much to Camet's discomfort and everyone else's delight, before succumbing. By the end of the hour, she'd barely been able to produce a sound.

At the conclusion of the presentation, the majority of the audience had been suitably impressed and while the support would still never be shown publicly, the operative was quite sure the facility and Camet's programs were in no danger of being shut down.

He cocked his head to the side and cleared his throat. "I once stared at a man for six hours and waited for him to speak, so I do hope that you aren't feigning unconsciousness on my behalf."

He wasn't surprised that he had to wait another few minutes for her to decide he wasn't leaving before she finally moved. She planted one unsteady hand on the bunk and pushed herself over onto her back. She eyed the ceiling for a few minutes before turning her head to see him. She frowned and eventually sat up.

"I was quite impressed with your control today," he offered. "You didn't beg."

Slowly, she got to her feet and shuffled closer to the force field, half-cradling her injured arm. She swallowed and he could tell it pained her to do so. "W-who…?"

He held up a finger to her and produced a packet of two lozenges from his pocket. He entered a command on the control panel and opened a small, fist-sized hole in the force field. He offered her the packet. "They'll make your throat feel better," he said, dropping them to the floor of her cell when she didn't move to take them from his hand. "And as for who I am, my name is Garak."

Only once he had closed the hole in the force field did she slowly bend over to retrieve the packet. She eyed the two candies speculatively and cocked an eyebrow at him as she held them up.

"No charge," he said. When she didn't move, he tried again. "Or you could consider them payment for a spectacular showing earlier today."

She didn't seem to believe him, but she sighed and began tearing open the packet with still-trembling fingers.

"As I was saying before," he said as she worked the package open, "I've seen men twice your size from all different species cry and squall like infants over less than what you endured today."

She pried one of the lozenges loose and put it in her mouth, grimacing for a second at the taste before relaxing as she swallowed a mouthful of cool juice. "Wouldn't have mattered," she said finally, speaking around the lozenge. "And I've begged before."

"And you'll beg again I'm sure."

She held his gaze for a minute before nodding in agreement. "I've been here a year," she said then held up her wrist, showing off the line burned indelibly into her skin. "You're my first visitor."

"To be fair, I never knew you were down here before, or I may have visited sooner."

"It's not just anyone… that can walk into this place," she said, her voice catching painfully. "Who are you?"

He grinned. "Just Garak. Plain, simple Garak."

She rolled her eyes, clearly not believing him, and shifted her weight grimacing as she did. "What can I do for you, Mister Garak?"

"Nothing, I suspect. After all, you are a prisoner and I am not. I doubt there's anything you could possibly do for me."

"Then why are you here?"

"I was interested in you. I thought perhaps we could converse. I'm sure your insights regarding Cardassians alone would be fascinating and worth several hours of conversation."

She stared at him blankly for several minutes. "You just want to talk?"

He made a point of looking behind her in the cell. "Unless, of course, you have more pressing engagements you need to attend."

"My dance card is usually booked solid," she said. "You may have to ask my dance partner if you can cut in."

"I'm not entirely sure I know what that means," he admitted, "but I can assure you I have no need to ask anyone's permission, except yours of course."

She shook her head. "I'm a prisoner, Garak. If you want to come and talk to me, I have no say in it." She started coughing. "D-don't pretend… like I do."

"Oh, but I'm not. If talking _at_ you was all I wanted to do, then I know you'd be made available to me anytime I wanted regardless of your preference. But conversing is a different matter entirely," he said. "It takes two to dance, or so I've been told."

"Tango," she said tiredly. "It takes two to tango."

"Ah, but the tango is a dance, isn't it?"

She nodded. The second lozenge slipped from her loose fingers, and she wearily bent over to retrieve it. He saw her glance toward her bunk. "You're exhausted," he said knowingly, "and I'm keeping you up. Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but shall I come again?"

The beginning had really been him watching her be tortured, but he felt that was probably the wrong thing to point out.

"What about Gul Camet?" she asked tiredly.

"Let me worry about Camet."

"That's easy for you to say."

He was amused by her comment but waited silently for her answer. He imagined anything approaching normalcy was outside her current life expectancies and more than a bit surreal to process.

Finally, she shrugged. "Our conversation has been pleasant."

"I would agree, and one must accept pleasant things when one can find them," he said and inclined his head towards her. "Until next time then."

He started to leave but she blurted out his name. "Garak, wait. Please."

He paused at the edge of her cell, curious.

"H-how long will I be here?"

He frowned, slowly turning back to face her. He'd thought her to possess mild intelligence. Surely, she knew she would never leave this place. No one ever did.

"I mean," she looked more uncomfortable than she had the entire time they'd been speaking. "I know I'll be here until I die, but…how long will that be?"

"You'll be here until you are no longer useful," he answered truthfully. It was likely more of a straight answer than she'd ever get from Camet.

"Useful," she repeated, studying the floor of her cell. She nodded. "Thank you, Garak."

He retraced his steps until he was standing in front of her. "For whatever value it may be to you, it is rare to see someone with the mark of even one year of service. Most simply do not survive."

She studied the mark on her arm, flinching when she ran a fingertip over the abused skin. "A badge of honor," she said bitterly.

"For some," Garak allowed. "How many of those lines would you like to achieve?"

She shook her head. "Some days I would've given a lot to have never reached this one." She looked up at him. "What's the most you've seen?"

He considered his answer, curious as to how she would use the information. Would she consider the number to be a goal to beat or an approaching deadline? He couldn't be sure yet. "I've never seen anyone with more than four marks." He saw her eyes widen but didn't know yet if it was in surprise or fear. "However, there is a legend that tells of a man who bears so many marks they wrap around his entire arm."

He watched her pale and look as though she was about to be ill. She surprised him when she drew herself up to her full height and cocked one eyebrow upwards. "How many marks did this legend have on his other arm?"

Garak's eyes lit up in amusement. "I don't believe anyone ever thought to look."

She nodded, held up the lozenge. "Thanks for this. I think I'll keep it for the morning."

He inclined his head again. "Good night, Twenty-five."

He watched her turn back towards her bunk before he left to head down the corridor. He would file a report on her to Enabran Tain. She was one the Order would want to keep an eye on; she could be useful to them in more ways than Camet could ever conceive.

* * *

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes:** Well, we covered 'dark', now we're about to get twisted.

* * *

"Good morning, Twenty-five. How are we feeling today?" Gul Camet asked pleasantly as he entered the lab.

She eyed him and the young Cardassian woman by his side. "I'm fine, Gul." She knew better than to not answer him.

"No lingering pain from our last session?" he asked.

"I can't straighten my right arm to its full extension," she admitted reluctantly.

"Hmmm, probably healed improperly." He picked up a scanning wand and waved it over her arm. "Yes, bones aren't quite in alignment as well as some shoulder tendons that could use some repair. We'll get those taken care of today." He made a note on his PADD. "That was quite a strenuous session last time, wasn't it?"

 _Rivulets of blood trickled down her arm as she hung suspended from the ceiling by a single wrist, her body twisting in the air like a fish on a hook._

"Yes, Gul," she managed, blinking away the memory, "it was."

Camet turned to the girl at his side. "It's very important to establish this rapport with your subject. Depending on what results you're seeking, these kinds of details about lingering issues can become very important. For what we are going to cover today, the irregularity in her arm won't be a factor, but it's something we'll want to attend to before future sessions."

The young woman nodded, her dark eyes scanning over the subject with a predatory interest. "And what if she conceals injuries from you?"

"Her body is ours. There isn't a mark on it that I am not aware of. As for unseen issues," he looked appraisingly at his subject, "it is something you must simply learn. I know Twenty-five more intimately than anyone in her life ever has. We have built an honest rapport. She is aware of the consequences when she has in the past attempted to deceive me. She knows better now. Don't you, Twenty-five?"

"Yes, Gul."

"I look forward to the day when I will have such a rapport with a subject," the young woman said.

"Sadly, there aren't too many that last as long as Twenty-five. She's been with me for a little over three years now. Most subjects simply give up before true honesty can be reached." Camet sighed and shook his head. "However, over the next year I will teach you what I can. Shall we begin?"

The young woman nodded eagerly.

"Twenty-five, I would like you to meet Seska." He introduced the young Cardassian as though the two women would be future friends. "She will be fulfilling her field training requirement with us before she graduates from her program. During your sessions with her, I expect you to treat her as an extension of me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Gul," Twenty-five responded.

"Good," he said, pleased. "Remove your clothing and assume a supine position on the table."

Seska watched as the subject proceeded to do as she was told. "Are all Terrans this submissive?"

He chuckled. "No, in fact, most aren't. It took well over a year for Twenty-five to learn to cooperate to this extent, and even then you simply can't expect her to follow your every command." He began restraining Twenty-five to the table. "Once you begin inflicting pain, even a submissive animal will seek to respond. Never underestimate an injured creature, Seska. Always, always follow precautions. In her right mind, Twenty-five understands the consequences of disobeying me, but given the right stimulation even her learned behaviors will fall away."

Seska looked at the guards by the door. "Which is why they are present."

"Yes, subjects will always be escorted by an armed presence. Now that Twenty-five is properly restrained to the table, they can be dismissed." He turned to the guards. "We'll call you when we're finished for the day."

"Aye, Gul."

Camet turned back to Seska. "You will never remove the restraints from a subject without the guards present. No matter their mental state or level of consciousness. If you are conducting studies that require the subject to be unrestrained, the guards must stay for the entire duration," he instructed.

"Do we often have studies that require them to be unrestrained?" Seska asked, circling the table and studying the pale Terran. She'd never seen one up close before.

"That will be up to you. You will be taught how to conduct proper interrogations while you are here, but your curriculum also demands that you develop your own program of study as well. You will devise, carry out, and conclude a study of your own design. The results, of which, will be published for the Order's future use. Subject Twenty-five and a handful of others are the preferred subjects for such extended periods of study."

"I understand," she said. "What is today's lesson?"

He smiled, pleased with his student's enthusiasm. "An introduction to Twenty-five. We will go over her history, biology, psychological profile, and allow you to get some hands-on training with some of the tools of our trade. Are you ready to begin?"

Seska smiled.

* * *

"I believe I've come up with my program of study," Seska said, presenting Gul Camet with a PADD. "It will be time consuming and limit other concurrent studies, but I believe the results will be most informative."

The Gul's brow ridges raised in surprise as he read the PADD. "You want to impregnate Twenty-five?"

"Yes. We currently hold three male Terran subjects with viable appendages, and with a booster injection Twenty-five's current physical health is conducive to child-bearing."

"The gestation period of nine months is lengthy for a student study," he commented. "Would you have the time to allow for complete fetal development?"

"I believe that monitoring the fetal development will provide sufficient information for my educational purposes. Dissection of the neonate and the results of that study can be conducted by a third party."

Camet scrolled through the rest of the contents. "Your outline is ambitious."

"The study of fetal development could provide us with a biological key to domination. Imagine if we expose a genetic flaw during gestation that could be manipulated. Subject Twenty-five could help bring about the demise of her entire species," Seska claimed not without excitement. "Within a few short years, the Cardassian Empire could control every living, breathing Terran in the universe."

"Twenty-five would only provide a single source of origin," Camet argued doubtfully.

"Any flaw in the biological system that we detect through Twenty-five could be tested against other adult subjects in our custody."

He nodded thoughtfully in consideration. "And you have an addendum?"

"Monitoring Twenty-five psychologically is secondary to the fetal development, but could prove interesting. Cardassian parents would do anything to protect their offspring. Are Terrans the same?"

He frowned. "You want her to care for the infant for a period of one month after the birth?"

"It will allow for the infant to have external maturation as well as provide time for psychological attachment between it and Twenty-five," she explained.

Camet put the PADD on the desk and sat back. "You have no intention of telling Twenty-five what is to become of the infant."

"I see no need to be unnecessarily cruel."

He rubbed his chin. "We would need to implement this almost immediately so as not to interfere with your graduation."

She presented him with a second PADD. "I've made preliminary arrangements to attempt impregnation of Twenty-five this afternoon, pending your approval."

"Attempt?" he asked. "You aren't going to have her artificially inseminated?"

"If possible, I'd prefer to observe the natural mating process between Terrans," she explained. "I know and understand the basics of their process, but I believe it could be beneficial for my future endeavors to have seen it for myself. There are always small details that aren't covered in the text."

"I see here you have all three male Terran prospects nominated for this study." He frowned and looked up at her. "Is that necessary?"

"We have only one viable female subject, but I see no reason not to observe all three male reactions to the sexual process and likewise Twenty-five's reaction to them. There could be varying results."

"And what is your timetable to determine pregnancy?"

"The medical staff has assured me that they will be able to determine if the impregnation has been successful after approximately forty-seven hours. If, at the time of her examination, Twenty-five is not gestating, we will proceed with artificial insemination."

Camet considered the data. "Your proposal is solid, Seska, but I urge you to take steps that will ensure your subject's continued worth."

Seska frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Gul."

"This facility has a lot of time and effort invested in the reeducation of Subject Twenty-five," he explained. "She should not be irreparably harmed during the course of any experiment."

Seska wanted to point out that Twenty-five was nothing more than a simple Terran, but she held her tongue. "Twenty-five may suffer some discomfort at first, Gul, but my overall objective will require her well-being. She will likely be healthier over the rest of the year than the entire time she's spent here."

Camet nodded and gave the plan his approval. "You're eager and ambitious, Seska. Do not let those traits override your judgment."

"Thank you, Gul Camet," she said, accepting the PADD. "I won't fail you."

He smiled thinly. "The Empire is lucky to have you."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes:** I admit, this is a teaser chapter, but that's why you get it early. As always, thank you for continuing to read.

* * *

Seska looked over the notes in Twenty-five's history. During her very first sessions, she claimed a history of four sexual relationships. Those four biological partners did not include holographic masturbation, which Twenty-five also admitted to using. Upon further questioning, Twenty-five had explained the nature of her holographic partners and what actions she had generally programmed them to perform. Camet had been thorough in his questioning, and even now Seska stood in a close approximation to the setting Twenty-five seemed to prefer.

In an effort to see the act of sex between two Terrans at its most natural, Seska had insured all parties were clean and without injury. The guards would still be present since both Twenty-five and the male subjects would be without restraints, but everyone had been instructed to be as unobtrusive as possible. It was understood that as a future operative, seducing Terrans would likely be a necessity, and Seska had every intention of studying the process as closely as possible.

"Good afternoon, Twenty-five," Seska said when her subject was brought in. A sense of pride swelled in her chest at so successfully inflicting her will upon someone else and had her feeling almost giddy. She gestured to their surroundings. "What do you think?"

Twenty-five paled considerably upon sight of the bed, her gaze quickly scanning the guards stationed at the corners of the room. "I don't understand, Gil."

The rank was honorary as Seska wasn't truly an officer, but since she was given authority to command guards as well as prisoners, she had to be called something. She just hated the way Twenty-five said it. There always seemed to be a tone of smugness present. "You will be having sexual intercourse today, Twenty-five. Is this setting suitable for the act of mating between two Terrans?"

Twenty-five glanced again at the bed and momentarily closed her eyes. She seemed to swallow with some difficulty. "Anywhere is suitable, Gil."

"It's a bedroom, Twenty-five. Don't most Terrans typically prefer the bedroom as the proper place to have sex?" Seska snapped, her earlier happiness giving way to irritation at her knowledge being semi-questioned in front of the guards.

"Yes, Gil," Twenty-five answered succinctly.

Seska's finger itched to trigger the control for Twenty-five's neural device. However, given the delicate nature of their proceedings, she resisted. There were other ways to torment Twenty-five. "Good." She turned to the guard still at the door. "Bring in Prisoner 753."

A Terran male with dark hair and deep, blue eyes was brought into the room. He glanced at Twenty-five and then Seska before averting his gaze to stare at the wall. Seska got to her feet and turned him towards the female Terran. "Prisoner 753, this is Subject Twenty-five. The two of you will engage in sexual intercourse. Proceed."

Prisoner 753 kept his eyes averted over the top of Twenty-five's head. "Apologies, Gil, but could you be more specific in your instructions?"

Seska growled her response. "You will remove her clothing. She will remove yours. You will then have sex. What more do you need to know?"

He cleared his throat. "Is there a preferred position you'd like us to emulate?"

One of the guards coughed. It was a laugh, but he concealed the sound with a cough. Barely. Seska's finger was on the trigger for both of their neural devices. She stood close enough to them so that only the two prisoners could hear her. "I want the two of you to have sex. I want you to do whatever it is that you humans do that will bring her to climax. Then you will ejaculate inside of her. Both of your histories indicate that you know how to proceed; I am ordering you to do so. If I have to give you another order, you will both regret it. Now, show me how it's done."

Seska returned to her seat and sat down. 753 had finally moved; his hand was caressing Twenty-five's cheek. Seska frowned at the gentle action. It certainly wasn't how Cardassians would begin, but since he seemed to be following orders and Twenty-five looked uncomfortable, she was willing to give him a little bit of leeway.

"What's your name?" 753 asked, tracing a line along Twenty-five's shoulder and down her arm.

She hesitated. "Twenty-"

753 placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "What's your _real_ name?"

Seska leaned forwards as 753 spoke quietly; she couldn't quite hear him. Twenty-five was visibly shaking at the man's touch. It was intriguing considering Seska had seen her endure worse and barely flinch. Twenty-five looked away from the man in front of her and her blue eyes unexpectedly sought out Seska. Seska wasn't sure what Twenty-five seemed to be seeking permission for but she glared at her subject. Her message was clear for Twenty-five to proceed.

Twenty-five closed her eyes and bent her head. She whispered, "Kathryn."

Prisoner 753 gently lifted her chin until she opened her eyes and looked at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Kathryn. I'm Justin."

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

**Notes:** And then they had...

* * *

It was the first time in three years she'd heard her real name. He was the first Terran she'd seen since Owen had died. His fingers felt warm against her face and she knew he could feel her trembling. His was the first kind touch she'd felt in three years. She didn't think she could do this. Not this. Living in hell every day was one thing, but being let out and treated like a real person only to know what she'd have to return to afterwards was an all-new kind of torture.

"Breathe, Kathryn. Just breathe," Justin whispered. "We'll get through this."

Her chest hurt and she realized she was holding her breath. She looked into his eyes and saw that they were full of the same pain she felt every day. It was only then she finally noticed the markings on his wrist. Five dark lines spanned the pale skin of his forearm.

She sucked in a breath; he'd been here for _five_ years. Two years longer than her and one year longer than she knew was possible. He looked just as surprised as she felt when she gently smoothed her fingers over his marks. He recovered quickly and turned her wrist up to his mouth, placing a kiss on her three lines.

"I don't think I can do this," Kathryn whispered fearfully, a tear rolling down her face.

Justin closed the distance between them until their chests were almost touching. "Forget everything but me. I'm the only other thing in the universe right now. There's no one else here. Nothing else matters." He cupped her face in both hands and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Just follow my lead, Kathryn. Do what I do."

He'd said something; she had no idea what. She'd been too taken aback when he'd closed the distance between them and all she could see was his shirt. "What?"

He dropped his hands down to her hips. "Do what I do."

She nodded shakily and put her hands on his hips. "Now what?"

He laughed lightly near her ear and moved his hands under her shirt, spanning his fingers over her rib cage. She gasped at the touch. "Now, take my shirt off."

When she didn't move, he took hold of her hands and guided her to the hem of his shirt. She grasped it and together they pulled it up over his head.

She blinked to clear her vision and realized she was staring at a ropy, muscled chest with more scars than she could count littering his skin. She felt his hands slip underneath her shirt again. Shakily, she touched a braided knot on the left side of his chest. His breath shuddered when she touched him, and she could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips.

This wasn't easy for him either, but he was trying, for her sake. His thumbs were gently stroking the undersides of her breasts. "Are you ready?"

She wasn't, but she nodded. He pulled her shirt up and over her head, crushing her against his chest as soon as she was free of it, blocking her exposure from view. Her hands circled his back, hanging on to him, and she felt a rough patch of scar tissue over his left kidney. She felt his fingers slide over the scar that spanned her shoulder blades. The Cardassians were fully capable of torturing without leaving marks, but it was clear they also found pleasure in leaving evidence of their handiwork.

Justin bent his head towards her neck. The sensation of his tongue darting out and leaving a hot, wet caress on her skin gave her goosebumps. He suckled her skin, tracing circles with his tongue as he slowly moved up her neck. His hand slid up and cupped her breast between them, gently grasping it as his tongue swept towards the sensitive skin behind her ear. She gasped against his neck and he began guiding her hand downwards, moving it until it rested on the waistband of his pants.

He pulled back from her, his breathing a little more ragged than it had been. "Come on, Kathryn." He played across both her breasts, his thumbs gently caressing her. "Take my pants off."

She bent her head to see and began working open the simple fastener. Her hands were shaking and she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. One of the guards leered at her from the corner and she froze.

"Look at me," Justin ordered, dropping his hands to hers and squeezing just hard enough to get her attention. "Stay with me, Kathryn. I'm the only one here."

She found his blue eyes again and let herself be anchored to him. She nodded again, a bit breathlessly, but concentrating on him helped. Together they got his pants undone and he let them drop to the floor. It crossed her mind to wonder if he'd been forced to do this before, but was distracted when he guided her backwards. Panic flared in her mind when she realized he was moving her towards the bed.

She started shaking her head in denial, but he caught her by the chin and tilted her head up towards his. He kissed her. Not hard, not forced, just pressure against her lips, warming her, waiting for her to respond. Slowly, she reached for him, her hands traveling upwards until she was able to reach a hand around the back of his neck. She opened her mouth to him and felt his tongue dart inside her mouth.

She could taste the bitter tang of the Cardassian cleansing foam and knew she likely tasted the same, but there was also a small part of him there as well. Something unique and human; something she desperately wanted to know.

The backs of her legs hit the bed and they collapsed onto it. The motion was enough to drag her panicking back into reality. He shifted her beneath him, pushing her further into the center of the bed, using his weight against her, trapping her.

"Shhh, shhh, Kathryn. Come on, stay with me." He stroked her face and put his weight on his arms, taking it off of her. "You're with me. Just me." His face was directly over hers, and he smiled when her panicked gaze settled on his face. "Hey, there you are." He kissed her gently. "We're all right. We're all right. You're with me. Okay?"

The panic was subsiding and she nodded. He was lying between her legs but she could hardly feel any of his weight. "Yeah," she managed, sniffing. "I'm okay." She gave him a watery smile. "I'm with you, right?"

His smile was sad but he nodded. "That's right. We're here together." He lowered his body until his chest was pressed against hers. He closed his eyes, a small smile playing at his mouth. "I can feel our hearts beating together."

She nodded, daring to touch his face. "Me too."

"Let's see if we can't speed them up again," he said. "Close your eyes, Kathryn."

She hesitated, but felt him moving closer, his hot mouth landing open and wet against her neck. She closed her eyes, blocking out the room and everyone else that was in it. Her hands moved through his hair and she felt him moving lower, tracing kisses over her collarbone, and down into the valley between her breasts. She barely felt his hands slip beneath the waistband of her pants, but then they were sliding off her hips. For a brief moment, he was gone, and she felt her hips lifted from the bed as he pulled her pants off completely.

She squeezed her eyes tighter together, not wanting to see how exposed she truly was. She'd been nude in front of Seska before. The guards in the room had certainly seen her nude before, and at least two of them had even fucked her, but this was different. This level of exposure was so completely and utterly different. Justin had done her a favor by getting her all worked up, but it was also a cruel gift.

"Hey," Justin whispered near her ear. "You still with me?"

She shook her head against the pillow. He smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her closed eyes. "Think about the arboretum." He kissed her neck and stroked his hand along her side. "Smell the jasmine in the air. Feel the cool grass beneath your back." His hair tickled her chest as he bent and teased her breast with his tongue. "Imagine the stars in the night sky above you."

A tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled into her hair. She ran a hand through his hair as he teased her other breast. She felt his free hand resting on her hip, and she placed her hand over his, guiding him towards her center. He'd been waiting for her, and he slipped down between her legs, sliding his hand between her folds. Slowly, he worked a finger inside her.

She flinched, not completely ready, and he moved his head up, his mouth covering hers, hiding her expression from the rest of the room. His thumb began to move in circles, and, soon, he was able to comfortably slide a second finger inside. He began to slowly pump the two fingers in and out. "Tell me when you're ready."

She barely heard him, overwhelmed with the emotions and sensations he was coaxing from her. Feelings she'd given up on ever experiencing again.

"Come on, Kathryn," he said, a little more urgently. "Tell me you're ready."

She opened her eyes. Sweat was beading on his forehead and she widened her legs, bending her knees up. His hand slid from between her legs and he thrust into her arching hips. His head dropped to her shoulder as he shuddered and held himself still inside her.

She curled the hair at the nape of his neck around her fingers. "Come on, Justin. Stay with me and we'll be all right."

He chuckled at her shoulder and pushed himself up. He pulled back with his hips and began to thrust. She didn't look away from him; she wanted to stay with him. He pumped into her, his mouth open as he panted and moved her against the soft mattress. He adjusted his angle, tilting her pelvis to match him, and rocked against her. She was close and his hand slipped between them once again, pushing hard against her core, sending her over the edge. Her clenching muscles dragged at him and he thrust once more before he came inside her.

He collapsed against her, breathing heavily, and the sounds of the room began to intrude on them. There were several jocular shouts and the sound of applause. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes as reality descended over them. Justin stroked a hand over her hair and kissed her temple.

"Be strong, Kathryn," he whispered in her ear. "If you ever get the chance, kill these bastards."

The sentiment took her by surprise, but she kissed his cheek and managed, "You too."

Pale, bony hands grabbed Justin by the shoulders and pulled him away, dragging him down and off the bed. The immediate loss of his presence left her feeling stunned and exposed. Kathryn scrambled to sit up, grabbing the sheet to hold against her chest and was just in time to see Seska reach between Justin's legs and grasp him.

"It's so hot," Seska murmured. Justin grimaced as she squeezed him, his arms pinned behind his back by one of the guards.

"Let him go!" Kathryn shouted, sliding towards the edge of the bed. "Please, let him go."

Without thinking, Kathryn reached for Seska and a guard grabbed her by the hair and flung her to the floor. Air rushed from her lungs, silencing her cry as a knee buried itself against her back, pinning her down. She heard Justin cry out and saw him hit the floor beside her. They locked eyes for a second before he was dragged from the room.

"Now that was foolish, Twenty-five," Seska said, kneeling beside her, "and you'd been doing so well. You'll have to be punished for that later." Kathryn stared blankly at the floor; the last thing she wanted to see right now was the Cardassian woman's leering face. She heard Seska sigh, "Stand her up."

The guard jerked Kathryn to her feet, locking her arms behind her in a painful grasp. Seska eyed her carefully. "You've lost some of that control you value, haven't you? Gul Camet will be so intrigued with these results." She moved a lock of Kathryn's hair away from her face. "Let's see how you do with the next one. Bring in Prisoner 3245."

Hell was quickly reasserting its dominance as strong hands flung Kathryn back onto the bed.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

**Notes:** Thank you for continuing to read!

* * *

By Kathryn's own best estimation, it had been three days since her tortured experience in the "bedroom". She both cursed and thanked the man that had called himself Justin. He'd been kind to her, and while she wouldn't have called it completely consensual given the circumstances, he could've done so much worse. Without his preparation, the two men after him would've hurt so much more.

The second man, while physically intact, had been practically feral. The laughing guards had tossed her back on the bed. Shocked at what was happening again, she'd barely noticed when they brought him in. He'd only made eye contact with her once and what she had seen was so empty of rational thought that she'd closed her eyes. All thoughts of the arboretum had vanished along with Justin, but the second man's rutting had only lasted a few minutes. As soon as he'd spent inside her, he'd jumped off the bed and thrown himself into a corner, cowering in the shadows.

Seska had been disappointed and vocal about it. Said she'd learned absolutely nothing from the display. It was only when Seska had pointed at her and demanded Kathryn be a more active participant with the next one that she realized her hell still wasn't over. As usual, the devil had saved his best for last.

The third prisoner the guards escorted in had looked at her and wondered aloud what he'd done to be so rewarded. Seska had informed him what she expected him to do and that she was expecting to see a show worth watching. The not-quite-human had grinned, the faint striations on his face twisting his expression.

He'd enjoyed himself; Kathryn had not.

And then Seska had ordered him to do it again.

It had been the punishment Kathryn had been promised for daring to almost touch the Cardassian woman.

 _"I want to watch her reaction this time."_

"Good evening, Twenty-five."

Kathryn jumped to her feet, dropping the book she'd been pretending to read. She was surprised to see Seska at her cell so late. Camet usually left her alone during the evenings. She couldn't quite bring herself to bow her head to this woman, but she remembered to be polite. "Good evening, Gil."

Seska didn't seem to notice. She waved a PADD at Kathryn. "I thought you'd want to know the results of yesterday's medical tests."

Kathryn said nothing. In the beginning, she'd tried to find out what they were testing for. She'd asked questions during sessions and later in medical. She'd learned not to.

"Do you even know what we were testing you for yesterday?"

"No, Gil."

The smile remained fixed on Seska's face, but it was more predatory than friendly. "You're pregnant."

Kathryn's head shot up. "What."

Seska laughed. "You're going to have a baby, Twenty-five."

Her knees felt weak and she sank down to the edge of the bunk, one hand grabbing the hard metal edge as the other splayed over her abdomen. It shouldn't have been possible, her body hadn't… but a child… in _this_ place. The thought made her ill.

"The news doesn't please you?" Seska snarled, all laughter gone from her voice. "Didn't you wonder why I had all those beasts fill you full of their seed?"

"Why?" It was all she could think. "Why would you…want to- Oh, God."

Seska watched her through the force field. "You and I will be spending a lot of time together these next nine months, Twenty-five. I want to learn everything there is to know about Terran reproduction."

Kathryn's head was still spinning, but if this was the only time she'd be allowed to ask questions, she had to know. "And then what happens?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to the baby, Seska?" she snapped and immediately felt the heat of fear rush through her. She lowered her eyes. "My apologies, Gil. I spoke without thinking."

"I understand," Seska said, coolly. "You're upset. But I confess, I don't know why. I thought this news would please you. You're going to have better rations, the finest medical care we can offer. And then afterwards, you and the child will be transferred to a minimum security facility where you can more easily raise it."

Kathryn frowned and pushed herself up from the bunk. "I'm being transferred?"

"Well, not yet. Not for nine more months, anyway." Seska gestured at the cell. "After all, this is no place to raise a child."

"I don't understand," she admitted, moving closer to the force field.

"You're going to be a mother, Twenty-five. After nine more months here, you'll live out your life with your child, probably in some agricultural community providing food for other prisoners." She held up the PADD so her subject could see the scrolling data. "We Cardassians aren't monsters. We just don't know that much about you Terrans. You and I are going to change all of that. You and I and your child are going to be the start of all new relations between the Federation and Cardassia."

Kathryn read the scrolling data as best she could. "The father was the first prisoner?"

"Yes," Seska said. "I suppose if it's a boy you could name it Justin."

* * *

.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes:** It's got to get darker before...

* * *

Seska was seething. Subject Twenty-five had done it again, gone out of her way to make Seska look like a fool. She would learn. The pregnancy prevented Seska from torturing Twenty-five _physically_ , but there were many forms of torture; a lesson Twenty-five should've learned by now.

She made her way to the now-familiar cell and deactivated the force field. "Get out here."

Prisoner 753 stepped out of his cell and regarded Seska curiously as he glanced at the two guards flanking her. "Good evening, Gil. I didn't expect to see you again until tomorrow."

Seska ground her teeth together. He was a good match for Twenty-five; they both thought they were better than Cardassians. Starfleet officers with their high and mighty morals keeping them warm at night. In a different timeline, Twenty-five and 753 may have met and had a wonderful life together, but not this life. Seska would make sure of that. She had a plan to hurt Twenty-five, and 753 was going to help her with it.

She was feeling better already.

The guards fell in beside the prisoner as she led their small procession towards Twenty-five's cell. She looked over her shoulder at him. "How are you this evening, 753?"

He appeared uncomfortable. "I'm fine, Gil."

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Is that an answer they teach at your precious Starfleet Academy? 'I'm fine.' Sometimes, I think it's all you Terrans know how to say."

He was silent for a moment. "I've got a hangnail on the third toe of my left foot."

Seska stopped the procession to turn and stare at him. "What the hell are you babbling on about?"

He shrugged. "That's an example of why we say we're fine, Gil. No one really gives a damn or wants to hear about my problems."

"You're impertinent. Never talk to me about your feet again."

"Yes, Gil." He dipped his head to her. "Would you care to know about the rash I'm developing under-"

Seska sent him to his knees with the flick of a switch, activating his neural device. All the muscles in his neck and jaw stood out as he clenched against the pain, but he didn't fall over. She switched it off and he sat back heavily on his heels, panting.

"You know better," she said, running her hand through his hair. "You will show me respect at all times."

He held her gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes. "Yes, Gil. My apologies."

"Get on your feet," she growled, leaving him to the guards as she turned on her heel and resumed her path.

A few minutes later she stood in front of the force field for Twenty-five's cell. The subject of her interest was reading literature Camet had given her as a reward, but stood when she realized Seska was there for her.

"Good evening, Twenty-five, how are you feeling?"

She lowered her eyes. "I'm fine, Gil."

Seska scoffed loudly. "Do you know that's the same answer you've given me for forty days in a row now?"

Twenty-five looked up uncertainly. "I'm fortunate that the pregnancy has been easy so far, Gil."

"Or you're a liar." She enjoyed how Twenty-five paled, but held up a hand, waving off any apologies before they could be given. "It's fine. In fact, I've brought you something. I thought you might enjoy some company."

Seska waved the guards forward and allowed Twenty-five to see Prisoner 753. He looked ill-at-ease but nodded at Twenty-five. "Hello again."

"Hello," she said hesitantly, looking between him and Seska.

Seska snorted. "For two people expecting a baby together, I expected a more emotional reunion." Her eyes widened innocently. "Oh, but that's right. You had no idea, did you 753?"

He looked ashen. "No. I didn't know."

"Are you excited at the prospect of being a father?"

He turned towards her. "I've never really thought about it. I've been a little busy trying to stay alive the past several years."

"And up until now, you've done very well for yourself."

He frowned, understanding the words a second before Seska lunged at him, sinking a knife blade deep into his chest. Twenty-five cried out and Seska saw the force field flare to life as she struck it. Seska followed 753 down to the floor. He looked stunned and she thought it was about time. "I told you to respect me."

He threw his head back, the veins in his neck bulging, when she pulled the blade slowly out of his body. Seska got back to her feet and smiled genially, noticing how stunned the guards looked. She wiped the blood off the blade on 753's shoulder. "Put him in with her. He can die in the company of his unborn child."

She lowered the force field and stood over Twenty-five as she used the bunk to pull herself back to her feet. The guards gripped 753 under the arms and dragged him into the cell.

"Why? Why do this?" Twenty-five asked plaintively. "He only ever did what you told him to do."

Seska slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling back onto the bunk. "Because I can't physically hurt you the way you deserve. Maybe now you'll think twice before crossing me."

Twenty-five shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I never-"

"Every day I ask after your condition. Every day you tell me you're fine. Then today, when Camet asks, you tell him that you're nauseous in the mornings and that you've noticed a few dizzy spells. You tell him that _after_ I've already reported that you're fine." She was tempted to slap her again, but she held back. "You made me look like a fool!"

Twenty-five kept her head down, staring at the thin blanket she'd earned more than two years ago. "I didn't think… it was never my intent to oppose you."

Seska straightened and noticed the two guards had stepped back out into the corridor. 753 lay on the floor where they'd dropped him, blood pooling on the floor. "Well, why don't you _think_ about your future answers a little bit harder tonight? Maybe you'll come up with something different to tell me in the morning." She stepped over the cell edge and back into the corridor, activating the force field. "Have a good evening, Twenty-five."

* * *

Kathryn stayed sprawled on the bunk as she listened to Seska's footsteps fade away. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands as she had done many, many times. The pain gave her something to concentrate on besides-

"Kath…ryn."

She spun. Justin reached a hand out to her and she scrambled towards him. "Oh God, Justin. I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead."

"Getting there," he breathed. She tried putting pressure on his chest but he pushed her hand away; they both knew the wound was a mortal one. "Is it true?"

She adjusted his head to lie on her lap and took his hand between her own. "Yes," she nodded. "I'm pregnant, and they told me the baby is yours."

His face contorted briefly. "You have to… get rid of it."

She leaned away from him. "What?"

His grip on her hand tightened. "Nothing good… can come from it."

"Justin, no. I can't-"

"Think about it. Listen to me," he insisted. "Them having… any knowledge… about human development. Nothing good."

She brushed his dark hair away from his forehead, leaving red streaks against his paling skin. "They're going to let me raise him."

"They'll never let you-" He shook his head. "No, Kathryn… don't believe them." He coughed, staining his lips with blood. " _Never_ believe them. That's an…order."

"An order?" she scoffed. "Wait, you were Starfleet?" she asked astounded. Then she remembered. "Of course; that's how you knew about the arboretum."

He nodded as his blue eyes locked on hers. "I _am_ Starfleet. And so are you."

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Easy to tell," he managed a grin, "and I heard things." The grin morphed into a grimace. "Never forget who you are, Kathryn. Promise me that."

She nodded, feeling tears well in her eyes. "I promise."

His eyes closed. "And the baby… don't let them… "

His hand went limp in hers and she stared up at the ceiling, willing her tears not to fall. Her heart hurt and she squeezed his hand as a sound of pure pain crawled its way out of her throat. It was the second time since she'd been captured that she'd been forced to sit helpless and watch a good man die for no reason. But Justin's passing was painful for another reason.

He'd been right.

She knew in her heart that she shouldn't believe a thing the Cardassians told her. They'd been nothing but cruel to her every day for over three years. They had raped and tortured her, experimented on her, used her as a party favor, and made her beg for things that any person with a shred of decency would have simply given. She'd been starved, brutalized, and branded. And yet, given the promise of a more comfortable life, she'd chosen to believe them.

It had been easier to believe them.

She stared at her bunk on the opposite wall, the fingers of her free hand still absently brushing through Justin's dark curls. The bunk had a hard metal frame attached solidly to the wall. It was at a height where she could easily fall on it. She'd have to hit it a few times; ideally, as many times as she could before they came in and stopped her.

She should probably wait an hour or so. Give whoever was monitoring her time to relax into the late night hours. She would wait; she would sit and continue to hold Justin's hand. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't forget who I am. Never again."

She knew it wouldn't be easy, but that was all right. Kathryn Janeway had never been one to take the easy way.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes:** There's a light coming...maybe not in this chapter, but it's out there.

* * *

Seska paced in front of the desk furious beyond measure at having to wait for Camet to arrive when he had summoned her. It was bad enough that her entire project was ruined, but now he was keeping her from completing the only work she could possibly salvage from it. As soon as she finished her report, she would make the Terran woman pay. Twenty-five would die for what she did, and it would not be a quick death. Seska promised herself that.

The door to the office opened and it was by sheer luck that she didn't run smack into Camet. She pulled up short from her furious pacing, ready to demand that she be allowed to return to the lab. Before she could speak, he grabbed her by the arm and practically threw her into the chair facing his desk. The action was stunning, and it suddenly occurred to her that her academic career was not the only thing she should be concerned about.

Camet dropped a PADD on his desk and sat down, steepling his fingers in front of him and staring silently at her. It was one of the oldest interrogation tricks in the book and yet she still had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. She hadn't done anything wrong. And yet…

"Is there a problem, Gul?"

"Yes."

She waited. He remained silent. She didn't have to take this. She wasn't a prisoner here. She couldn't be treated like one of his subjects. She got to her feet, intending to leave.

"Sit. Down."

Camet had deep connections to the Obsidian Order; he could likely treat her any way he felt and there was nothing she could do about it. He could easily make her disappear. She sat down.

She tried again. "I don't know what you are so upset about-"

"Don't you?"

"She's _just_ a prisoner-"

His cold gaze hardened, freezing Seska before she could finish the rest of her thought. He gave her another moment, ensuring her silence before he picked up the PADD he'd brought with him.

"You ordered medical to perform a complete hysterectomy on Twenty-five," he read. "Would you care to explain yourself?"

Seska sought to control her temper. "She purposefully injured herself so that she would lose the fetus."

He waited for her to continue.

"My entire project was terminated by her ridiculous actions."

"Ridiculous actions? Yes, I would agree that ridiculous actions did indeed take place," he said. "Tell me, Seska, how did removing the subject's ability to reproduce help Cardassia? Hmm?"

"She aborted the fetus! There was no further information to study."

"You could have easily impregnated her again. Artificial insemination could have taken place as early as tomorrow. The subject could have been protectively restrained for the entirety of the gestation period so that we could study the fetal development of a Terran. But now…" He dropped the PADD back to the desk. "Now we have nothing."

"That's not true," she argued. "I still have the-"

"You. Have. _Nothing!_ " He thundered, leaning over the desk. "You acted rashly and destroyed three years of my work. You are hereby dismissed from this program."

"What?!"

"You were _warned_ , Seska," he reminded her, "and yet you still allowed your emotional state to dictate your actions." He shook his head. "Pathetic."

She was shocked. "Gul, no. Please-"

"You are not a complete waste of time, Seska." Camet softened marginally. "I understand your instructors in other areas are pleased with your work. I'm sure that eventually you will make a fine interrogator or field operative, but I'm afraid that the higher echelons of the Order will be forever out of your reach."

She jumped to her feet, more emotions than she could put name to fueling her movement. Camet leaned back in his chair, looking at her expectantly. There were many things she wanted to say to him, but only one mattered more than the rest.

"She's a prisoner," she snarled. "You treat her with more respect than you give me."

"Twenty-five has earned my respect; you haven't."

It was as if he had slapped her. "I am a Cardassian! Blood to bone. I would give my life for the greater glory of Cardassia."

"And given another year, possibly two, Twenty-five would have given even more than that." He shook his head. "She could've done more for Cardassia than you or any hundred other Order members could ever hope to accomplish."

Seska stared at him. "You expected to turn her into a spy for Cardassia?"

"Oh yes," he said. "She would have been perfect."

"Twenty-five is a trained vole reacting to stimulus. Nothing more," she said dismissively. She gestured in the direction of the medical bay. "But if you're so sure of her talents, she still lives. Go and retrieve your little spy."

"No, I don't imagine she'll ever be a spy for us now. Your actions have seen to that." He sighed. "It's my fault, really. I should have never let someone as careless as you handle such a valuable asset, but I thought I could use your project as a means to an end. Well, now we have the end and no means."

The comment stung, but she was still intrigued. "How would my project have turned her to us?"

"The loss of her child would've created a perfect opportunity to manipulate her at a previously untapped emotional level. Cardassia would've showered her with sympathy and kindness at such an atrocity."

Now she was confused. "But we were going to be the ones to take her child."

"A fact she would have never known. All she would've known is that the same Federation that gave her up for dead all those years ago, the same Federation that abandoned her to years of torture, were also the ones responsible for leading a military raid against a peaceful agricultural settlement, killing everyone in sight including her child, and leaving her, once again, for dead."

Seska stayed on her feet, but the implications of her actions threatened to send her to her knees. "But surely, you can still salvage her. The abandonment alone could serve as enough of a psychological platform-"

"No!" He slammed his fist against the desk. "No," he said, more calmly. "When she arrived here, she was young and eager. Malleable. I spent three years forming a bond with her and now that bond has been severed."

"Bond?" Seska asked. "You experimented on her. You used her to prove scientific theories."

"I _tortured_ her," he said plainly, "and more importantly I broke her."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "You tortured her. How is that a bond?"

"Because I was consistent," he said. "Twenty-five was given rules; she was taught consequences of breaking those rules. She learned appropriate behaviors. She became conditioned to this life," he explained. "I never committed acts against her through emotion, and she relied on that. She trusted me."

"What about the experiments?"

"Twenty-five has a scientific background. She yearns for reason and fact. Cause and effect. If she was being caused pain because of punishment, she was told of her infraction. If she was part of an experiment, I would tell her when it began and when it was concluded. It helped her mind to form patterns. Expectations." He sat back. "Since the beginning, I've been forcing her to actively participate as often as possible. She's had to make choices. The choices were never easy or comfortable but by forcing her to choose, she was working _with_ me. She was cooperating."

He shook his head. "And in two short months, you managed to destroy everything I've worked towards for three years."

"You keep saying that," Seska growled, angry again, "but you give me nothing in proof."

"I introduced you to Twenty-five as an extension of me. You had my power, my blessing, so by proxy you had the subject's expectations. Twenty-five expects punishments for disobeying established parameters; you punished her for imagined slights. She expects abuse to have reason and structure; you expanded her abuse arbitrarily. And lastly, most damningly, you exposed her to the one thing she had absolutely no defense for – other Terrans."

"You approved my plan to impregnate her using other Terrans."

"They were supposed to fuck, not have a conversation," he snapped. "Ideally, she should have been even more wary of other Terrans than she ever had been before, but you managed to bungle that too. You reunited her with him. You allowed him time to die in her arms. Now there was a true stroke of idiocy." He shook his head in disgust. "Not only did you arbitrarily kill one of our most resilient subjects, you allowed Twenty-five time to form an emotional bond, however brief, with someone besides me. He reminded her of who she used to be. You introduced an outside influence to a controlled subject and the entire experiment has blown up in our faces. Well done, Seska, well done. I don't think the Federation could've possibly set us back more than you have."

"Gul Camet, you must know that I meant-"

"Do be quiet, Seska. You've said quite enough already." He pressed a button on his desk console and the door to his office opened to reveal two security guards. "Seska, your access to this area has been revoked. These men will escort you out."

She glared at him. He raised an eyebrow, taunting her. They both knew the guards would be just as happy to escort her to a cell of her own as they would be to escort her out of the building. Seska spun on her heel and pushed past the guards and out the door. The last thing she saw was Camet turning on a video feed of Twenty-five's cell, ostensibly to check on his medically sedated but well-trained vole.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 11

**Notes:** And here. We. Go.

* * *

Kathryn slowly bent over at the waist, stretching until her fingertips touched the floor of her cell. A muscle in her lower back spasmed and she grimaced but didn't pull out of the stretch. After a slow exhale, she raised back up until her arms were over her head, her fingertips brushing against the ceiling. She took a steadying breath and brought her arms down to her sides.

It had been three days since her last session. When she'd first woken up, she'd barely been able to move, but if the Cardassians followed their regular schedule she'd only have one more day of recuperation. She'd learned a long time ago that if she kept herself limber, she fared much better. Her goal for the night was to get her palms flat against the floor.

After her miscarriage, they'd tried to bring her back around. Sometimes she'd resisted, sometimes she'd fought back. Other times she'd just quietly gone along with whatever they'd ordered. If there were four lights and they told her there were five, she'd shrugged and agreed there were five lights. If she was given a choice between which of two evils she was to endure, she'd remained quiet until they decided for her. They'd beaten her; she'd taken it. They'd raped her; she'd gotten up when they were finished and put her clothes back on. All the tried and tested methods they'd used on her during the first three years of her captivity barely fazed her.

Camet's fury at her apathy fueled her resolve.

After another two years of markings being branded into her skin, Camet's patience had finally snapped. He'd nearly beaten her to death. To date it was the longest recovery time she'd ever required. Or maybe it had been an experiment in isolation. She hadn't minded.

That beating had been three years ago.

Her mark of distinction, the eighth year brand spanning her arm from wrist to elbow, was still tender. Camet had made a point of being there to administer it to her. It was the first time she'd seen him in months. When she'd barely flinched at the scent of her own burning flesh filling the room, he'd sneered and struck her across the face.

It infuriated him that in every experiment, every test of her endurance, she would passively resist. She'd hold out for as long as she could stand it, days at a time, enduring countless hours of brutality until she would finally break. She'd cry out and beg them to stop. Promise to do anything they ordered her to do if they'd simply stop hurting her, and yet, when it was over, after she'd performed whatever degrading task they'd required of her; she'd revert back to form. She'd rebuild and stitch herself together so that at the start of the next task, Camet was mentally back to square one with her.

She never accepted his kind graces, his offers to ease her suffering. After Seska, after Justin, she never trusted Camet again.

The light ensconced in the back wall of her cell flickered. It was enough of an anomaly that she eased out of her stretch to look at it. In eight years, her cell had never been in complete darkness. The light had never failed. It blinked out and back on, sending a shower of sparks into her cell before it burned out entirely.

In the dark, she heard her feral neighbor begin to rage; he didn't like changes in his routine and apparently that extended to the light in his cell as well. Now the only light she had was coming from the corridor. She moved to stand as close to the force field as she dared, feeling its static hum agitating her skin. The lights up and down the corridor were flickering and she felt a light rumble beneath her feet. Dust showered her shoulders from the ceiling.

Another rumble shook her cell and a charge illuminated the force field, skittering across it, causing her to flinch away. It was like a bad dream. A recurring nightmare she'd had for years, the tease of escape taunting her, the force field dissipating only to seal back up when she tried to leave. Her neighbor let out a bloodcurdling scream and she felt like joining him in chorus. Waiting…would it happen…

This was usually the point of the dream when she'd wake up. Instead, she heard three distant overhead thuds; she didn't blink as dust cascaded onto her head, tickling her face. She focused on the energy barrier, muscles tightened, breath held captive in her lungs.

A deafening explosion rocked the ceiling above and rolled the floor beneath her feet. She stumbled against the wall, losing her balance and her breath at the same time. Her ears were ringing, silencing all other sounds, and she crouched down as pieces of ceiling hit her shoulders and back. She watched cracks race up the wall towards the ceiling. She was going to be buried alive in the cell where she'd lived for eight years.

She picked up a plate sized piece of ceiling that had fallen at her feet and hurled it at the force field. The energy barrier flared to life, crackling and sparking. She threw another piece and another. If any guards had been at all concerned with her, they'd have shown up by now. Clearly, they had other problems. She had two sizeable pieces of debris left at her feet. She hefted the first one and flung it.

It sailed straight through and into the corridor, crashing against the far wall. She had a brief moment of shock before launching herself over the threshold of the cell that had held her captive for so long. A faint shock of energy shot through her and then she hit the corridor wall, safely on the opposite side of the force field. She blinked in amazement at the now-empty cell in front of her.

It wasn't like she hadn't left the small chamber before. She'd come and gone from it on an almost daily basis and yet, this time was different. She was alone. No guards. And the cell, _her_ cell, was empty. She looked up and down the flickering corridor. Chunks of ceiling littered the floor, but there was no other sign of life.

She leaned to the side, checking on her feral and suddenly quiet neighbor. His wide eyes peered at her from the blackened corner of his cell. She moved closer but could feel the static tingle of his still-powered force field. He crept out at the sight of her, crouched down, moving on all fours like a primate. Losing precious time, she knelt down as he approached. He cocked his head to the side, looking at her from multiple angles.

Two more thuds shook the building and she flinched as debris fell around her.

"Go!" he whispered.

She gaped at him, shocked that he was articulate. "Are you-"

"GO!"

She stumbled backwards, falling against the corridor wall as he pounded against the force field, getting himself thrown across his cell from the energy. She scrambled to her feet and started moving down the corridor. She ignored the other cells she passed, not looking inside them; she didn't want to see who else she was possibly leaving behind.

Thunderous explosions rocked the building and she stumbled against a corner as the floor heaved beneath her feet. She was at a cross-section, a place she'd been guided through many times. To the right were interrogation and testing rooms and straight ahead led to Gul Camet's private lab and office. She had no idea what the left corridor led to; she'd never been taken that way. She looked down it. It probably led to escape, to an exit. In eight years, she'd never once gone left. She wasn't about to start today. Stepping over a shattered light fixture, she moved straight for Camet's office.

When she reached the door, she could hear movement. It wasn't the only thing she heard. Battle was definitely taking place somewhere down the corridors she hadn't chosen. The bombardment from above had finally stopped and the close-quarters combat was quickly gaining on her position. Weapons fire and cries of pain were sounds she readily recognized, but she didn't care who was coming up behind her. She only cared about who was in front of her.

The door didn't open easily, but she put her shoulder damn near through it, and found herself inside the lab. She shuddered at the lab's ionized scent, having smelled it far too many times to count. She scanned the room and saw her prey, back to her, working furiously at a computer console.

She straightened to her full height. "Gul. Camet."

His shoulders froze and his head came up. He slowly turned to face her. His obsidian eyes matched hers for hatred. "Subject Twenty-five."

"That's not my name."

They both moved at the same time. Camet jumped to his right as Janeway charged forward. She slid across the lab table he was standing behind, jamming her feet into his side, toppling him over. He came up firing.

The first blast from the disruptor in his hand sizzled past her head close enough that she smelled burnt hair. She wrenched the lab table over on top of him as he fired again. The blast of energy struck her left flank, sending her reeling backwards and out of his sight.

Camet scrambled from underneath the wreckage she'd thrown on him and got to his feet. She was standing only a few meters away, bent over and leaning heavily against the room's main biobed. "How fitting that you will die, here, in the room where your destruction started all those years ago."

"If you think a single disruptor blast is enough to kill me…after all these years," she mocked, straightening away from the bed, "then you're a fool."

She held her left arm tight to her bleeding side, but in the other hand she held a disruptor aimed straight at his chest. "Did you really think…that after all that time you had me strapped down to this bed…I didn't know where you kept your holdout weapon?"

She enjoyed watching him squirm; they both knew the weapon was set to kill. And they both knew that she would use it.

"Is this really what you want to do? Kill me in cold blood?" he asked, making a dangerous play. "Your father would be sorely disappointed in how far you've fallen."

The hand holding the weapon never so much as trembled. "My father…is none of your concern."

The fighting in the corridor was getting closer. Voices that did not sound like Cardassians were getting louder. "The Federation will never accept you, Twenty-five. You've been among us for too long," Camet tried. "They'll convict you of treason for all the information you've given us. People died because of you. That's not the sort of cowardice your people are likely to forgive. Or forget."

Her eye twitched at his accusation.

"Do you remember how we started?" he asked, nodding towards the corner of the lab. "Do you remember hanging by your wrists, Twenty-five? We tortured you as you hung there helpless. You broke both of your wrists and dislocated a shoulder as you thrashed in agony. You were so pathetically weak," he sneered. "Do you remember when your youth and innocence betrayed you and you started to cry? Do you remember what you _begged_ me to do?"

Her eyes hardened back to the present. "I begged you to kill me," she said and pressed the trigger on her weapon. Camet screamed and flew backwards with a satisfying thud, dead before he hit the ground.

The ragged wound in her side was bleeding profusely; she felt it soaking her clothes, but she managed to move closer to him. It was almost disheartening to be in this much pain and know that once again he was the cause of it, to know that he was beyond pain. She wanted to see him, wanted to stand over him, and gloat. He was sprawled on the floor, eyes open, a smoking burn covering his chest.

He was dead. It was over.

The door to the lab burst open, slamming against the wall as two figures rushed through it. Kathryn swayed on her feet as she looked in their direction. They both raised their weapons, pointing them at her.

"Where is Gul Camet? Who are you?" they demanded, both talking at the same time.

She managed to gesture in the direction he'd fallen.

"She's got a weapon!"

It was the last thing she heard before she was blasted backwards against the wall. After everything that had happened, she was going to die in his damn lab after all.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

**Notes:** A little short so you get it early. Thanks so much for continuing to read and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" the larger of the two intruders asked, lowering his weapon to stare at his partner.

The woman shrugged. "She had a weapon."

"She wasn't pointing it at us."

"Why do you care?" she asked. "She's probably just a damn collaborator, anyway."

"I don't think she is," the man said, moving further into the lab. He gestured at the slain Cardassian lying dead behind the desk. "In fact, I think she just killed Gul Camet."

The woman hurried over and looked behind the desk. "Huh. Well, good for her then. Now, let's just get the damn records that we came here for and get out. The spoonheads have got to have reinforcements on the way by now."

He nodded and accessed the console Camet had been using. "The Prophets have blessed us again. He's got the files already open and downloading for us." He laughed and keyed in a few commands. "Guess he wanted to take his work with him."

"Just hurry it up." She spit on the dead gul and moved back to guard the open door.

He keyed in one last command, retrieved a small disc, and stepped back to fire his weapon at the console. He moved to join his partner but stopped, glancing over to where the unknown woman had fallen. "We shouldn't leave her."

"Are you crazy? She's dead," his partner said. "Let's go!"

He ignored her and crouched next to the bleeding woman half propped up against the wall. "She's a Terran."

"So, we'll say a few prayers of thanks for her when we get back to the ship. Can we go now, please!"

He moved a tangle of auburn hair away from the woman's face and saw her grimace. "She's alive."

"That's not possible." His partner came back in the room and saw for herself that the woman was still breathing. She met her partner's gaze and nodded. "Bring her."

He pocketed the small disc, slung his weapon over his shoulder, and slid his arms beneath the woman's knees and back. She groaned as he hefted her against his chest, but her eyes never opened. He wondered who she was as he followed his partner out of the dead Cardassian's lab.

* * *

The Resistance captain strode into the small bay that served as a sorry excuse for a medical bay. Three members of the resistance had died during the raid of the prison facility and another six were injured. Silently, he moved from patient to patient, visually assessing their injuries for himself and probable time of recovery. He was thankful they weren't all from his cell, but for a movement as small as theirs, any casualty was one too many. He sincerely hoped they got the information they'd been searching for. Those records could sway very powerful people to see the Cardassians as the monsters they truly were. They could change everything.

He frowned when he saw the bare feet of a seventh patient lying on the floor past the last of the makeshift beds. He glanced around and quickly recounted that he had, in fact, seen the six injured people that had been reported to him. "Who is this?"

If it was possible, the medical bay became even quieter. He moved around the last cot and saw a bloodied, unconscious Terran female. She looked about as pale as he had ever seen anyone and knew that if she wasn't dead already she soon would be. "Doc! What the hell is this?"

"She ain't one of ours," the old medic replied as he sealed up a wound on a red-headed female resistance fighter. "I'll get to her once I've finished patching everyone else up."

"She'll be dead by then," the captain said, crouching down to take her pulse. It was thready and weak.

"She can have my bed, Captain," a weak but familiar voice said. He looked up and saw Mike Ayala grimacing as he sat up. "I've got a few broken bones that aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

The captain frowned, but agreed that the woman's injuries were more severe. "Doc! Get over here!"

He lifted the woman onto the bed and saw Mike lean carefully back against the bulkhead. "Do you know where she came from?"

"Retrieval team brought her in," Mike answered, being careful not to move too much. "One of Shakaar's men, I think."

"It was Furel and Lupaza," the red-headed resistance woman said, trailing behind the medic as he finally made his way over. "They said she killed Camet."

"Then we owe her a debt of gratitude," the captain said, glaring at the old doctor. "Don't we, Doc?"

The old man frowned as he began to examine her. "If she killed that Cardie bastard, he sure took a piece of her with him." He shook his head at the ragged wound. "Lot of blood loss here, Chief."

Chakotay knew that meant the odds weren't good for her survival. "Do what you can. I think this one is a fighter." He stroked a hand over her forehead, smoothing her hair back. "Keep me informed."

* * *

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	13. Chapter 13

**Notes:** A little less dark. A little more angst.

* * *

The scent of baking bread tickled her memory. Her mother had always been a fantastic cook and as long as Kathryn had remained out of the kitchen, the house had often been filled with mouth-watering aromas. But that had been a lifetime ago and the thought of eating food based on taste and not nutritious necessity was something she hadn't considered for longer than she could remember. The scent wafted over her again and she frowned in her sleep, trying to hang on to unconsciousness.

She was in pain; a throbbing ache in her side dragged her from her memory tinted oblivion. Sadly, waking up in pain wasn't a new experience for her, but something felt different. For one, the bed she was lying on was soft and even without opening her eyes she knew the light filtering in was not the obnoxious overhead lamps that triggered immediate headaches. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, she opened her eyes.

As the glare of the room faded, she frowned. She had absolutely no idea where she was.

Soft, warm sunlight lit the room and she had to squint against the natural light. She forced herself to turn her head towards the light and saw a large double window with pulled back curtains and a round, stringed ornament of some kind hanging in the middle of the glass. The part of the floor that she could see was bare boards with a few well worn rugs covering the majority of the space. She turned her head to the other side and saw a closet and some sort of painting hanging on the wall. Lifting her head, she took in the fact that she was lying in the middle of decent-sized bed with a quilted blanket covering her from the waist down.

She let her head drop back to the pillow as she worried her hand against the unfamiliar linen top she was wearing. Despite everything the Cardassians had tried on her, she had to admit, this was new. And well done. The only holographic recreations they had ever placed her in before had been simple programs, usually with very specific purposes. This one though... it had detail.

There was sand on the floor boards. She could feel a feather in the soft pillow poking the back of her head. And, of course, she could smell the baking bread.

It pissed her off.

Her throat felt dry as the desert, but she shook her head from side to side against the pillow. "It won't work, Camet. I don't believe you."

Her voice was a raspy whisper, barely conveying the true rage of her hate for the simulation. She yanked the pillow out from under her head and threw it to the floor. She tried to kick off the blanket but the ache in her side flared to a full blown burn when she tried to move. She clutched a hand against it, felt the padding of bandages, and groaned. What medieval experiment had they forced on her now?

The door to the room creaked open on noisy hinges and she froze. She watched as a tray carried by an older man with a head full of white-grey hair crossed the threshold into the room. The old man was concentrating so hard on balancing the tray that he was only two steps away from the bed before he noticed she was awake and staring at him.

"Oh. Hello there." He stopped, looking uncertainly between her and the nightstand where he'd clearly been heading. "Good morning, let me just put this down-"

"What the hell do you want from me?" she ground out, pushing up to her elbows despite the nauseating pain flaring across her chest. "What the hell is all this?"

He straightened away from putting the tray down and noticed how she was sitting. "Oh, don't sit up like that. You'll re-injure yourself."

"I'm fine," she growled, ignoring the perspiration breaking out on her forehead and the way her arms were already shaking. "Just tell me… what you want."

"I just want you to heal." He ran a hand over his thinning hair. "This is my home. You're safe here."

She coughed out a humorless laugh. "You really expect me to believe that?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Which part? Your safety or that this is my home?"

"I'm not going to play your little game, Gul!" she growled again, dropping onto her back before her arms gave out.

"Gul?" he smiled. "Do I look like a Cardassian to you?"

"Turn it off!" she demanded, refusing to look at him.

He sighed. "This is not a program, _Akecheta_. You are no longer a prisoner of the Cardassians. This is my home and you are my guest. You were gravely injured and my son brought you here to recuperate."

Spots were darkening her vision and she tried to blink them away. "I don't believe you." Damn but she was tired and in pain. She knew she was going to pass out again. "I _won't_ believe you."

He watched her slip quickly back into sleep and he glanced at the tray. He'd been intending to feed her the soup as he'd done for the past week, but now that she'd awakened he doubted he'd be able to without disturbing her. She needed her rest, but she also needed her strength. He frowned again and realized she also needed her pillow. Looking over the bed, he saw it on the floor and retrieved it. He gently lifted her head and slid it underneath, hearing her mutter in her sleep like she usually did when he moved her.

He left the glass of water on the nightstand and took the rest of the tray back out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Her breakfast would have to wait. If the fire he'd seen in her eyes had been any indication, he felt sure she'd live. He needed to send word to Chakotay that she'd awakened.

* * *

Kolopak was almost finished with his evening meditations when he heard a crash. He got to his feet and quickly made his way to his guest's room. He'd checked on her several times during the afternoon and evening, but she'd been sleeping each time. It sounded like she was awake now.

She was definitely awake and foolishly on her feet, leaning heavily against the dresser by the door, when he entered the room.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," he said immediately, moving towards her.

She held him back with an outstretched arm. "Don't touch me."

He held up his hands so she would see he wasn't pressing. "I won't, but I'm not joking. You need to be in bed."

"You said I wasn't a prisoner here."

"You're not a prisoner," he said, "but your wounds are not healed enough for you to be moving around like this."

"I've had worse." She lurched from the dresser to the door frame. "I'll be fine."

He stepped back out of her way. "Where are you going?"

"Out," she growled.

"Outside? But it's dark out." She slid past door frame and into the hall; he moved with her. "There's nowhere safe to go out there at this time of night."

"I want to see it."

"You won't be able to see anything," he insisted. "It's pitch black out there."

"I need… to go out there." She looked up at him, her whole body trembling from her effort to keep moving. " _Please_."

"Fine, but let me help you," he said, waiting a moment before moving closer to her. When she didn't object, he slid under her arm on her uninjured side and supported the majority of her weight. "Now, tell me, Akecheta, where are we off to in such a hurry this evening?"

She didn't answer him and he thought perhaps it was because she was using every bit of energy she had to simply put one foot in front of the other. Together they kept a slow, steady pace down the hall and across the kitchen. He guided her towards the back door and she only faltered once. When he opened the back door, she balked at the threshold. Every muscle in her body went rigid against him; her labored breathing went silent.

"Akecheta?"

"That's not my name," she whispered, still not moving forward.

He laughed lightly, trying to ease her sudden tension. "I had to call you something. I know very little about you, but it seemed to fit."

She'd relaxed somewhat as they'd stood there, the night air cooling both of them in the open doorway. "Why?"

"It means 'fighter.'" He saw the corner of her mouth crook upwards.

She stepped across the door's threshold, her bare feet sinking slightly in the still-warm sand. He felt her flinch as they stepped further outside into the mostly-barren yard. He hadn't been exaggerating. There were no external lights; only the light filtering out of the open doorway lit their path. He still didn't know where they were going, but she seemed determined.

Finally, once they were standing far enough outside that they were in complete darkness, she stopped. She slid her arm from around his shoulders and he slowly withdrew his support, backing a few steps away until she stood on her own. He could hear her shuddering breaths and didn't understand why she was suddenly so afraid.

Then he watched as she looked up to the night sky. For a second, it was quiet; then he heard the choked sob that escaped her. He was so startled by the noise, he didn't catch her as she collapsed to the ground. He rushed to her side, and she clutched at his shirt as he helped her sit up. In the pale light of the stars she looked haunted, but he couldn't see any tears on her face. Her gaze skipped across the sky as her fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

"What is it?" he asked finally, speaking quietly, trying not to frighten her.

She didn't answer right away, but her grip loosened and she shifted most of her weight off of him. She continued to look up. "This is the first time I've seen the stars… in eight years. I don't… " Her voice broke and she sniffed, wiping a hand quickly under her eyes. "I don't even recognize them."

After several long minutes, she finally tore her gaze away from the sky and looked at him. "Where am I?"

* * *

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	14. Chapter 14

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* * *

Kathryn woke up, lying once again in the comfortable bed, and once again not knowing how she got there. The last thing she remembered was feeling cold and the old man suggesting they go back inside. She hadn't wanted to. She'd been outside; she'd been able to see the stars. She'd felt… free.

It had been surreal. Feeling free and then thinking about that freedom as a foreign concept and then realizing how crazy it was to think of freedom as an unusual state. She scrubbed a hand over her face; her head was all messed up. And she still wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't all just some elaborate scheme.

But, at least, it was still dark outside. She felt lethargic, but if it was still dark she hadn't been asleep for too long. She hoped. The ache in her side told her it hadn't been long enough. Damn Camet to all the hells anyone believed in. He was, once again, the reason she was in pain. But he was dead. She'd killed him. She remembered that much clearly.

Everything after that was hazy, though, especially the part where she went from being a prisoner of the Cardassians to waking up in the home of an old man who appeared to be a Terran.

Dorvan V. That's where he had told her she was. It hadn't meant anything to her at the time and didn't mean anything to her now. She didn't need to know.

But that wasn't entirely true. She _did_ need to know. She deserved to know. If she wasn't a prisoner, as the old man claimed, there was no reason she shouldn't know. And yet, the thought of asking made her heart race. The familiar warm flood of fear washed over her as she remembered her nighttime stroll. Her stomach tightened at the repercussions she would face for the way she had addressed him, the demands she had made. She'd just been so mad; she'd wanted them to deny her, to admit that this was all just an illusion.

But it hadn't happened that way. The old man had simply supported her and offered her his assistance. He'd called her "Akecheta." He'd seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being. He'd probably been the one to put her back in this bed. Maybe that was it; maybe he'd done something to her while she'd been unconscious. That would be par for the course.

But she'd killed Camet. There'd been fighting of some sort. She remembered that. She'd escaped from her cell. Had there been an attack on the prison? Who would've attacked it? Did this mean she was actually… free?

No. No, that wasn't likely. Not after eight years. She held up her arm and looked at the dark lines marking it. Eight fucking years… in hell.

And now what?

Now she was just free to go? She laughed darkly into the silence of the room. No way. No, she wouldn't believe that. She looked again at her marks. She couldn't believe that she was free. To believe that would be dangerous. Hope was dangerous. She'd given up on hope a long time ago.

So, then where did that leave her? Playing along? It's what she had done since Justin died. It's how she'd survived as long as she had. Granted they'd never given her a scenario quite like this one, but they would show their true colors eventually. She could wait them out.

After all, she was a prisoner; she had all the time in the world.

* * *

A week passed in much the same manner. She slept, ate, and made small forays to the bathroom, the kitchen, and occasionally outside. The old man was never far away. Sometimes she'd see him working outside as she propelled herself along the small hallway; they'd spent a few evenings with him telling stories and relaying news of the universe from the past eight years. He brought her trays of food twice a day and always asked how she was feeling. If the Cardassians were simply giving her days to recuperate, she'd officially gone longer than any other time.

And yet she was sleeping a lot, so much so that she wondered if he was putting something in the food to make her drowsy. But she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around a rationale for that. Kolopak assured her daily that she was not a prisoner; she was simply injured. If this was an elaborate hoax, a scheme to punish her for killing Camet, they could've healed her injury. They had the technology; just like they had the technology for holodecks and simulations. She needed to put an end to this deception once and for all, and she'd finally figured out a way to do it.

"I need to use your communication terminal."

She'd forced herself to join him at the kitchen table. Walking was finally getting easier. She could almost transverse the entire house without spiking a fever and giving herself the shakes. Almost.

Kolopak set a small plate of food in front of her. "I'm sorry. I don't have one."

"What do you mean you don't have one?" she asked, immediately suspicious.

He noticed her reaction and his smile faltered. "Our settlement eschews technology in our everyday life, and I've never found that I needed one in my home."

"But I have family back on Earth. They think I'm dead," she said. "I need to get word to them."

"There is a communication center in town-"

"Then let's go there!" she pushed herself up from the table, staggering against it as she grabbed for the back of her chair to remain upright.

"Sit down, Akecheta," he said, gently pushing her back down towards the chair. "The communication center is not going anywhere. It will still be there when you are well enough to travel."

"I'm fine," she gritted out, swiping angrily at the sweat that had broken out on her upper lip.

Kolopak chuckled. "You can barely make it from your bedroom to the kitchen. You are in no condition to travel two hours into town and back."

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "I have to let them know. I need to talk to them. I haven't… eight years, Kolopak. _Eight_. _Years_."

"Yes, it's been eight years." He gently placed his hand over hers on the table. "One more week will not change anything."

She shook her head. "Tomorrow."

"No." He shook his head smiling faintly at her stubbornness. "You will need at least another week." He held up a hand to hold off her demand. "One of my neighbors will come by tomorrow to check on me. If you'd like, we can give him your family's names and send them a message."

She pulled away from him, leaning back from the table. "No."

Kolopak was clearly taken aback by her sharp reply and sudden withdrawal. "Akecheta?"

"I'm not giving you or anyone else the names of my family members," she stated coldly.

Understanding dawned in the old man's expression. "You still think I am in league with the Cardassians?"

She looked away from him, staring into the small kitchen in silence.

He sighed and stood, gathering his now cool mug to take into the kitchen. "When you can gain your feet without almost passing out, then we will know more."

Her eyes flicked to him and then quickly away. She placed a hand on the table and pushed herself halfway up before sinking back into the chair with a grimace.

His expression was sympathetic. "Eat something, Akecheta, it will help you regain your strength."

Her hand tightened into a fist on top of the table. "Just. Tell me the truth. _Please_."

"I have," he said simply. "You are free. The Cardassians can no longer hurt you. It is you who must choose to believe this."

"I don't believe you," she insisted quietly. "I won't believe you. Not until I talk to my family."

He pushed a bowl of oatmeal towards her. "Then you should eat, and then perhaps in a week, after you have talked to your family, we will finally be able to sit together as friends."

She wouldn't look at him, but she nodded and began to eat.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 15

**Notes:** Thanks so much for continuing to read!

* * *

Kolopak watched her carefully as they made their way into town. It had only been four days, but despite his warnings, she had been insistent. By her appearance, he knew he'd been right and that they should have waited. A sheen of sweat covered her skin and she had a sickly, pale tinge that made her look the part of death warmed over. She kept her arm held protectively over the slowly, healing wound in her side, but she groaned loud enough for him to hear when a person leaving the communications center bumped into her.

"Akecheta, are you all right?" he asked.

She kept her fist in front of her mouth for several moments before she finally lowered it and swallowed thickly. "If one more person bumps into me…"

She didn't finish the thought, but he felt sure the meager breakfast she had managed to choke down before they'd left the house would be making a reappearance if she was jostled again. Together they slowly approached the desk of the communications terminal.

The bored operator looked up when she leaned against the desk. He asked, "What's the name and contact station?"

She hesitated then watched Kolopak when she spoke, "Starfleet Command. Admiral Edward Janeway."

Kolopak felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. Since she'd woken up, they'd passed several hours with him talking and her listening. He'd been trying to catch her up on some of the things she'd missed while she'd been imprisoned. He'd told her all about the Bajoran Resistance and the fledgling Maquis movement that had rescued her from the Cardassians. When asked, she'd refused to tell him anything about herself or who she wanted to contact. Since she still hadn't trusted him, he hadn't pressed the issue. Now he knew why she'd been so reluctant, but he wished she had confided in him; he could've saved her some frustration.

"We don't transmit calls to Starfleet," the operator said. "Do you have another name and contact station?"

"It's an emergency," she ground out between her teeth then reluctantly added, "Admiral Janeway is my father."

The operator eyed her with mild irritation. "We don't transmit calls to Starfleet." He glanced at Kolopak, standing behind her shoulder. "Do you have another name and contact station?"

"Akecheta, please," Kolopak tried. "Surely, you have a different station you could contact."

"Fine." She angrily swiped her hair back from her face, the strands clinging to her damp skin. "Edward Janeway. Earth. North America. Indiana. Bloomington station."

The operator sighed and input the call to the station. "There's no listing for an Edward Janeway."

"What?" She shook her head. "Try Gretchen Janeway, same station."

"There's no listing for Gretchen Janeway."

She glanced at Kolopak, shaking her head in disbelief. "Try Phoebe, please. Phoebe Janeway, same station."

The operator shook his head. "There are no Janeways listed for Bloomington station."

"That doesn't make any sense," she muttered. "Can you try one more please? Phoebe Janeway. Earth. North America. California. San Francisco station."

He punched in some commands and looked up at her. "San Francisco has twenty stations. Can you be more specific?"

"No," she growled.

The operator glanced at her hand and the white-knuckled grip she had on the desk's edge. "I'm sorry, but without the station identifier, I can't help you." He pointed behind her at the three rows of screens taking up most of the space in the room. "We have terminals open. You can get access to the databases from there and send them a message. Once you have their contact information, we can open a line of real time communication for you."

Kolopak put his hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her away from the desk. He led her to one of the terminals and she dropped heavily onto a hard, mismatched chair situated in front of the screen. As he pulled a chair over for himself, he saw her grimace as she shifted her weight in the chair. He hoped she wasn't developing an infection.

"Akecheta?" Kolopak asked gently. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and opened her eyes. "I just… I don't understand," she explained. "Janeways have been in Bloomington, Indiana, for centuries. Even if they thought _I_ was dead, they wouldn't give up the homestead."

"Well, let's search for them, then," he said, activating the terminal and then looking at her expectantly.

She ran her hands experimentally over the terminal's surface. "I don't know how to use it," she admitted, ruefully. "I'm a little behind on the latest tech."

"So am I," Kolopak said, smiling at her gently, "but I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can figure this out."

Despite his conceit, Kolopak had used the terminals several times before, researching projects he'd completed around the house. He was able to bring them to a site that primarily dealt with information regarding people. He selected Earth as the location they wanted to search and then waited for her to offer particulars. "Do you want to try Indiana first?"

"I don't know, I mean, he said there weren't even any listings for Janeways there." She worried her hand against her forehead. "We might be better off trying to find Phoebe first."

"Okay," he said agreeably and input California as their geographic area. "You told the operator San Francisco. Maybe we can narrow it down like he suggested." He watched her look away from him and stare out the window. "Akecheta?"

"I told the operator San Francisco because that's where Phoebe was going to school," she said quietly. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. "But that was eight years ago." She sniffed. "Even Phoebe wouldn't take that long to finish her degree."

"Perhaps she would if it was a Vulcan academy she was attending," Kolopak offered, delighted when she managed a watery laugh.

"Phoebe's about the least Vulcan person you'll ever meet!" she laughed again at the idea. "Even the Vulcans would've graduated her early just to be rid of her."

Kolopak grinned and placed a hand on her knee. "Then we have at least ruled out Vulcan as a place to look for her."

She patted his hand and nodded. "Try the Andorian Academy for Arts. That's, at least, where she was starting out."

After several minutes of sorting through filters, they were finally able to navigate to older results. A class roster for the year 2358 listed Phoebe Janeway as a second year student. Akecheta paused, taking in the first picture she'd seen of her sister in eight years, trailing her fingers over the image. "That's her, Kolopak. That's my sister." She leaned closer to the picture and frowned. "She dyed her hair purple."

Kolopak shrugged. "It's a nice color for her."

She pointed at the screen next to her sister's picture. "There's a file for more articles that mention her."

Kolopak opened the file and the screen filled with a series of informative squares showing partial headlines. As Kolopak scanned them, he found that most of them seemed to be various art exhibitions that had featured the university's students.

Akecheta pointed at the last square. "Open that one."

Kolopak looked at the last article and saw the partial headline: "University Loses Promising-"

He glanced nervously at Akecheta and opened the file. "University Loses Promising Young Artist. Phoebe Janeway, projected class of 2361, was killed yesterday alongside both of her parents. The family was flying in a prototype starship, the _Terra Nova_ , when the ship suffered a terminal malfunction and crashed. The ship was designed by Phoebe's father, Admiral Edward Janeway. The family flight was a salute to commemorate the one year anniversary of the death of Phoebe's elder sister, Ensign Kat-"

Kolopak was so absorbed in reading the article that he barely noticed Akecheta pushing away from the terminal. It was only when she tried to stand that the movement caught his attention. Her face had turned the color of ash. She staggered against the chair, knocking it over, and Kolopak caught her as she collapsed. He saw her eyes just before they closed and thought he had never seen such pain in all his life.

* * *

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	16. Chapter 16

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* * *

Chakotay trudged up the path leading to his father's door. He was tired and hungry. He smelled of old sweat and wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and collapse on his own bed. It irritated him that he knew he wouldn't be able to do the latter.

Kolopak met him at the door with a hearty hug and immediately offered him a plate of hot food. Chakotay gratefully accepted it and dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Only after he'd finished his first plateful and stood to get seconds did he finally attempt conversation. "How's the house guest I left you?"

"You haven't looked at the messages I left for you?" Kolopak asked, a note of disapproval in his tone.

"Apologies, Father," Chakotay said, retaking his seat at the table. "The feed for our communications array had garbled the messages up so much I only had the patience to review the entirety of one of your letters." He dabbed a hunk of bread into the gravy on his plate. "In the letter I did see, you said she was recovering and had a streak of stubbornness that I would appreciate."

Kolopak smiled, but it faded quickly. "That message was a month ago. She's had a setback since then."

"A setback?"

"Once she was strong enough, I took her into town so she could contact her family." He shook his head. "All we found was death. Her parents and sister were all killed in a shuttle accident seven years ago."

Chakotay sat back against his chair. "Does she have anyone else?"

"None that she's mentioned," Kolopak said. "We had to stay the night at your cousin's house in town until she was well enough to travel the next day. She's been in bed for almost every hour since she learned the news. She's barely spoken; she hardly eats."

"She feels like she's lost everything," Chakotay said.

Kolopak nodded. "The passing of time has been good for her injury, given it the time it needed to heal, but I am not so certain she will survive this."

"This woman survived eight years in a Cardassian prison camp, Father," Chakotay argued, taking his plate to the sink. "She'll survive this."

"Akecheta is strong, but even the strongest person can be swept out to sea if they have no anchor," Kolopak said. "Right now, Son, she is lost."

Chakotay looked towards the back of the small house and the closed bedroom door. "I'll talk to her," he said and then looked down at his shirt, "After I take a shower."

Three days later, Chakotay's patience had officially run out. He'd heeded his father's pleas to be gentle with their houseguest, but after sleeping on the couch for three nights with a loose spring digging into his back, he'd had enough. He was tired and had to be back on his ship in two days. Trips home were supposed to be restful. His crew was not going to appreciate him showing up in a fouler mood than when he'd left. He needed a good night's rest.

He needed his own bed.

But Akecheta, as his father called the woman, barely left the bed. He'd only seen her with his own eyes outside of the room twice and those two times had been for obvious necessities. Seeing his father prepare a lunch tray for her set his teeth on edge and he intercepted the delivery halfway to the door.

"If she has no reason to come out of the room, she won't," he told his father.

"She barely eats as it is," Kolopak argued. "I'm afraid for her."

"Let me bring her lunch," Chakotay said, switching gears and taking the tray. "She didn't seem to want to talk to me before, but maybe if I bring her food, that'll help open the conversation."

Kolopak looked dubious. "You're planning something."

Chakotay tried to look innocent. "I just want to get her back on her feet."

"She needs to start living again." Kolopak handed over the tray. "Don't be too harsh on her."

Chakotay nodded and carefully opened the bedroom door. The lump in the middle of his bed barely moved. He set the tray down on the dresser and attempted to be nice in honor of his father's wishes. "Brought you some lunch. Thought you might be hungry."

The blankets shifted slightly and he thought he heard a murmured word or two that could have been thanks. He grabbed a cookie off the tray and ate it. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

He poked around at the other items on the tray. "In the three days I've been here, you've barely eaten anything. You sure you don't want to get up and eat?"

She sighed. "I'm not hungry."

He picked the pitcher up off the tray and checked the contents. He moved closer to the bed. "How's your side? It's not still hurting, is it?"

"No, I'm not hurt," she said from beneath the light blanket that his mother had made. "Please just… leave me alone."

Chakotay nodded to himself, satisfied that he had tried to be nice about this. He upended the pitcher of water over the lump on his bed. The woman shrieked, throwing the cover off as she scrambled to her feet.

He grinned; she looked as mad as a cat, hissing and wet. She pushed damp hair out of her face as she finally looked at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out of my room!"

He set the empty pitcher down on the bedside table. "Actually, it's my room, Cat, and it's about time you got out of it."

She looked utterly confused. "Who the hell are you?"

"Kolopak's son," he said, pulling the wet sheets off the bed. "The guy that brought you here." He threw the linen in a pile in the corner and pulled a fresh set from the closet. "I'm also the captain of the ship that rescued you from that Cardassian prison." He began remaking the bed. "Name's Chakotay."

She watched him tuck in the bottom sheet, folding precise corners at the edges before he threw a loose sheet over the top. When he started toeing off his shoes, she backed away. "What are you doing?"

"Well, Cat," he began, tugging his shirt off over his head, "I'm going to take a nap."

"I won't sleep with you," she said immediately, her hands in fists at her sides.

He paused, hearing the fear in her voice. He hadn't given enough consideration to how she would perceive his actions. He hadn't meant to scare her. "No, you aren't." He smiled at her apologetically. "But you are going to leave this room so I can get some sleep." He sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "Close the door behind you on your way out."

She stood there looking between him and the door as he stretched out on the bed and stacked his hands beneath his head, his eyes already closed. "What am I supposed to do out there?"

Chakotay cracked open one eye to look in her direction. "Take a shower. Eat something." He closed his eye and relaxed again. "You have to start living again, Cat. Now is as good a time as any."

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	17. Chapter 17

**Notes:** Probably won't have time to post tomorrow so you get tomorrow's chapter today. As always, thank you for continuing to read.

* * *

Chakotay found her the following night sitting on a bench Kolopak had fashioned for his wife, staring up at the night sky. She watched him cautiously as he approached, her gaze only returning to the stars when he stopped moving and looked up himself.

"My mother used to love sitting out here and watching the stars," he said softly.

"Kolopak told me." She risked a glance at him. "He also told me the Cardassians killed her. I'm sorry."

Chakotay nodded tightly. The silence sat between them for a few moments before she heard him sigh. "Well, Cat, I'm leaving tomorrow morning," he said. "You won't have to sleep on the couch after tonight."

"I didn't sleep on the couch." It had been way too soft; she was used to sleeping on a firm mat. She'd been injured and grieving before and hadn't really noticed it, but she doubted now she'd even be able to sleep in the bed as soft as it was.

Chakotay frowned and looked at her. "Where did you sleep?"

"On the floor," she admitted then glanced hurriedly at him, realizing her choice probably sounded odd to him. She caught him watching her and tightened the blanket around her shoulders. "Why do you keep calling me Cat?"

"I don't know your actual name." He shrugged, his dimples showing a little as he smiled. "And that's what you reminded me of when I woke you up, an angry wet cat."

"My sister used to call me that."

The smile slipped off his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," she said, looking back to the stars. "It's as good a name as any to be known by for now."

"Is it short for something?"

She nodded but didn't offer anything. "Do you really have a ship out there?"

"Well, she's not up there right now, but yes," he said. "The _Val Jean_."

She snorted lightly. "And the Cardassians are your Inspector Javert?"

He looked sharply at her. "You know the story?"

The momentary lightness faded from her expression. "My parents were traditionalists."

"Well, for what it's worth, you're the first person I've met that knew the reference." He kicked at the dirt. "Sadly, though, I don't think your comparison is accurate."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

He sat down on the arm of the bench. "The Cardassians are more like the German Nazis of Earth's ancient wars. They consider themselves to be better than others. They've annexed worlds and subjugated their populations to harsh rule. They've committed atrocities…" he trailed off, realizing who he was talking to. "Sorry, I guess you'd know all about that."

"A bit," she acknowledged.

He sighed, "I guess, if you want to stick with the metaphor, the real Javert for the Maquis would be Starfleet."

She stiffened. "Why would you say that?"

"Javert upholds the law simply because it is the law. In the eyes of Starfleet, anyone who violently opposes the Cardassians is a criminal. It doesn't seem to matter to them that what the Cardassians are doing is unjust."

"And Starfleet is persecuting the Maquis simply to uphold the peace?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "They will. So far they haven't been able to catch us."

She was quiet for a few minutes. "Do you think Starfleet knows what the Cardassians are capable of? Do you think they know what the Cardassians do to their prisoners?"

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Some do, but they're having a tough time getting others to listen to them. Peace is the status quo; there's a large portion of people that don't _want_ to know the ugly truth."

"Because that would mean war." Her father had said the words during that meeting so long ago when he'd first learned of her alleged fate. Had no one listened to him? "Are the Maquis trying to make Starfleet see the truth?"

"That's more of a bonus than a goal, but the more noise we make, the more the Federation has to acknowledge us," he admitted. "Unfortunately, there are a lot of innocent people between the Cardassians and the Federation. At least if the Cardassians are chasing us…"

"They're leaving the civilians alone," she finished for him.

"That's the idea anyway." He looked sideways at her. "The Maquis are growing in numbers everyday, but my ship could always use another fighter."

It took a moment for what he was suggesting to sink in. "What, me?" She shook her head. "No. No, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say because she was a Starfleet officer. "Because I am messed up, Chakotay."

He seemed to decide that was a fair answer. "So are a lot of the members of the Maquis. Almost all of them have lost something. Or someone." He leaned back on the bench. "Sadly, you'd fit right in."

She shook her head. "I... can't. I'm sorry, but…"

He held up a hand. "It was just an idea."

She relaxed slightly at his retreat. Her mind was still racing, trying to piece together a better argument for her refusal, but her thoughts were all jumbled.

"Will you go back to Earth?"

The question startled her. "I don't…" she shook her head. The thought of Earth without her family wasn't something she could fathom. She'd died and so had they. And as for returning to Starfleet… "No… I don't think I'll go back."

"What then?" He gestured back towards the house. "It'll get pretty lonely here with just my dad for company."

She floundered for an answer. "I guess for now I'll just try to get through the day."

It was a sad smile that graced his face. "That's all any of us can do." He got to his feet and stretched his back. "Well, I think I'll call it a day. I'll see you in the morning before I leave. Good night, Cat."

Kathryn mumbled her good nights and pulled the blanket back up around her shoulders. Clouds had moved in, blotting out most of the stars, and she knew sleep would not come easy. She was awake now, had been since Chakotay had dumped water on her, and sleep was no longer a viable escape.

The night's cold air eventually drove her inside, but she didn't bother making her pallet on the floor. She sat on the corner of the couch, her feet tucked under her as she stared unseeing into the darkness of Kolopak's modest home.

She couldn't stay here. The idea of being cooped up in the small house devoid of distraction would make her lose what little sanity she felt she still had. Three days earlier the concept hadn't bothered her. Three days earlier, Chakotay hadn't forced her into facing the unrecognizable world that now lay in front of her.

Her family was gone. That was her new reality. All of her life her family had been her touchstone, and for eight long years they had been the one thing she held onto. She'd lost sight of them from time to time, washed out by pain and humiliation, but in her darkest moments like the one she was currently staring into, they'd slowly but surely reappeared to her.

She wasn't able to see them tonight. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to see them again.

But there were other people waiting for her on Earth, even if they didn't know it yet. Starfleet was there. And boy, would they want to talk to her. She wondered how many years she would be sentenced to when they convicted her of treason. Would they consider her eight years in hell to be time served? As loathe as she was to admit it, Camet had been right about one thing. They would never accept her back. Even if they didn't convict her, even if they understood she'd had no choice in the information she'd revealed, they'd never allow her back in uniform. She was damaged goods. Untrustworthy.

She was also living proof of everything Starfleet was trying to deny regarding the Cardassians.

So where did all of this leave her?

When Chakotay stumbled still half-asleep out of his bedroom in the morning, she was already sipping her second cup of coffee. He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "Did you sleep at all?"

She shook her head. "I've been asleep for weeks."

"But you're awake now?" he asked.

She nodded. "Still got room on that ship of yours for one more fighter?"

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	18. Chapter 18

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Kathryn may have been eight years behind on all the latest tech, but on a ship like the _Val Jean_ that hardly mattered. The original parts were all twenty years old and there wasn't a single replacement part that was less than ten. Only five months as a member of the Maquis and the small engine room was already hers.

Her first two weeks on board had been a bit unanchored with her helping out wherever it seemed like she could, until, in the middle of a firefight, she found herself working beside the cranky old bastard that had kicked her out of the engine room on her first day. His head had been bleeding profusely from a scalp laceration, but he was still locking down coolant relays while ignoring the wound. She had jumped in beside him, ignored his barking at her until they were finished, at which point he had simply nodded to her and told her to begin repairs.

It hadn't been the most auspicious start, but after a few weeks he'd declared the engine room hers and informed Chakotay that he was going home. She'd hardly left it since. She slept on a hammock of sorts that hung between the bulkhead and the warp core, and the tiny pocket refresher in the back corner worked more often than not. When they stopped planetside, she'd leave long enough to get a hot meal and shower but being around crowds, especially ones with loud drunks, was still a bit much for her and she avoided them as much as possible. More than once between runs, Chakotay had poked his head into the engine room to find her curled up in her hammock reading.

"Just like a cat to find a perch up high and dry," he said, grinning.

He'd tempted her down a few times usually with promises of home-cooked food by some family he knew well. One planet that they'd only made it to once even had a very secluded, barely-known-about hot springs. She'd thanked deities she didn't even believe in for the luxury of soaking in the warm, slightly sulfur-smelling water.

But that had been several weeks and two skirmishes ago. Now she could only smell scorched ozone as smoke spewed from a ruptured panel. Kathryn drove her boot into the panel, buckling its covering enough that she could spray retardant into the damaged space. "Damn it, Chakotay! I just fixed that console!"

The ship bucked again beneath her feet, sending her sprawling across the small room. Her shoulder hit the opposite bulkhead hard, bearing the brunt that her head narrowly missed. She had no way of knowing what was going on outside her small world but the impacts thudding against the hull made it clear they were under attack for the third time in as many months. The Cardassians were stepping up their patrols.

She patted the side of her boot, reassuring herself that her knife was still where it was supposed to be. She also had a blaster holstered at her thigh and a small one-shot holdout phaser ensconced in her other boot heel. If they were boarded, she would not be taken alive.

"Cat! We ne…rp powe…now!"

The burst of static and half syllables over the damaged comm had her slamming a fist against the single remaining functioning console. It obeyed her demands perfectly, and she assumed Chakotay's garbled message had been a command for warp power. As far as all the readings were concerned, her reinforcements to the warp core had been a success and they could make a run for it whenever they wanted.

"Warp core is online!" she yelled into the speaker that would broadcast her to the bridge.

She braced herself through the next immediate barrage of weapons fire and wondered why they hadn't fled. Her improvements in the engine room were good but they wouldn't hold up forever. "Chakotay!" she yelled again. "You have warp now!"

They took another hit and in a shower of sparks she pitched sideways into the small refresher, banging her hip against the sink. Inertial dampers were failing; she could feel the pitch and sway too much. Hand over hand, she pulled herself back to the console, fingers flying across the controls as soon as she reached it. The ship steadied under her feet through no action of her own and she paused; was the attack over?

"Maquis ship, this…Gul Pre…power down…weapons and prep…oarded. This is… ast warning."

A cold, Pavlovian sweat broke out on the back of her neck as the new voice broke over the comm system. The Cardassians were no longer firing; they thought they were in control.

"Like hell," she muttered, running codes through the console and accessing the bridge's systems. Environmental controls were offline. Oxygen levels were depleted. Everyone on the bridge was unconscious. "No. No, no, no, no."

She accessed tactical. Only one Cardassian ship. In pristine condition. Open Federation space behind them and neutral zone all around them. The Badlands were out there somewhere, too, but she didn't have time to go that far. She hacked into helm control, breaking through Ayala's lockout. She keyed in a new destination and then eyed the warp core. It was pulsing steadily, undamaged. She really hoped appearances weren't deceiving.

The gul was still hailing. It would almost be worth it to open the communications line just to see his face when she burned out of here, but she didn't, telling herself she didn't have time. She keyed in the sequence for the jump to warp; she heard the gul demand them to power down.

Her finger hovered for only a second over the controls as she risked another quick glance at her calculations. The _Val Jean_ shuddered again under weapons fire as she engaged the engines. It wasn't a clean getaway. Phasers raked across the hull and inertial dampers partially failed as they hurtled at warp speed towards Federation space.

Between the phaser fire and the lessening gravity, Kathryn found herself in a crumpled heap against the opposite bulkhead. She struggled to hold onto consciousness and regain her feet. She needed to program in the second half of her course. They'd only skim the edge of Federation space for a few minutes before streaking back towards neutral territory. She left bloody fingerprints across the controls as she flooded the bridge with oxygen and adjusted the artificial gravity. Her stomach lurched as the ship's gravity reasserted itself properly.

As smoke she'd barely noticed began to clear from the air, she felt an odd sensation inside her boot and looked down. A large, jagged piece of shrapnel was embedded in her calf and blood was soaking into her sock. She looked stupidly around her engine room for the culprit and found a chunk of bulkhead blown out giving her easy, open access to the surrounding deck. She stared dumbly at it for a few minutes. If she crawled through that opening, she could make it to the ship's small galley in less than a minute. A few meters down from the galley was their makeshift medical bay; she should probably go there.

She leaned back against the bulkhead instead, sliding down until her butt hit the deck. The warp core was steadily thrumming and she turned towards its reassuring light. Her hammock was still swaying slightly from the afternoon's upheaval. She wished she had the energy to climb into it.

The comm system crackled again and she thought she heard Chakotay call her name. She mentally added the comm speaker to the list of things she needed to fix. It was her last thought before passing out.

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	19. Chapter 19

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Chakotay found Cat at the bar.

It had been four months since their near-escape, and the crew had been clawing at the bulkheads ready to get off the ship for more than a few hours. It had been a rough time of limping repairs, narrow escapes, and stressful missions. The crew had also been planning all that time how they would fete their chief engineer for singlehandedly saving their collective asses.

It mattered not a single bit to anyone that the chief engineer in question held no interest in being celebrated.

The _Val Jean_ had entered the Moriya system the day before and Chakotay promised they'd stay on the surface for at least a week. For someone like Cat that was probably five days too many, but for most of the crew, they'd probably only be conscious for two of the days. Members of the Maquis knew how to blow off steam. Chakotay hadn't forced Cat to go with the crew for the celebratory party in her honor, but he had encouraged her. He thought it would be good for her; he'd also threatened Ayala within an inch of his life if he didn't look out for her.

When Chakotay arrived at the ramshackle building that served as one of the three local pubs, he was, by necessity, several hours behind the rest of his crew. As captain, he'd needed to line up resupply for the ship, send off intelligence communiqués to the other resistance leaders, and meet with the local elders to establish what needed doing in exchange for his people staying planetside. He was not immune to the pressures of their harried lifestyle and was more than ready to pound some beers with his crew.

What he found, however, was that Ayala had been true to his word. He had remained reasonably sober while keeping an eye on his charge, but his sobriety had not been enforced on Cat. She looked as though she had accepted every round of drinks or shots that had been offered to her. She was completely and utterly soused.

Chakotay was stunned. He'd more or less expected her to be polite, accept a few drinks, and then quietly make her exit back to the ship and her books. Ayala clapped his large hand on Chakotay's shoulder. "Don't worry, Chief. She's been having a great time. First time I've gotten more than two sentences out of her in a single sitting."

"How much has she had to drink?" Chakotay asked loudly so that Mike could hear him.

"Huh?" Ayala was busy signaling the bartender to bring another round. "Oh, well," he looked around, noticing the thinned out ranks among the crowd, "she's outlasted about half the crew and nobody left without buying her a round first."

Chakotay sympathized with the hangover Cat would be feeling the next day. "Thanks for watching out for her."

Ayala shrugged. "The crew only had to take care of two guys that got too friendly with her; she broke the third guy's wrist." He accepted a large tankard of beer from the bartender. "I'm pretty sure she's capable of taking care of herself, Chak."

"Never hurts to watch each other's backs," Chakotay said, although he acknowledged to himself that he had never before felt the need to be so protective of any other member of his crew outside of battle. It was pretty much accepted that if you were part of the Maquis you were either a survivor or a fighter. Usually both. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mike."

Ayala slugged back half of the beer he'd just gotten in one swig. "I intend to. See you in a few days, Chief."

Chakotay slid and pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the corner table where Cat sat, her back to the wall with one hand wrapped around an empty glass. He signaled the waitress to bring his usual first round as he took a seat. Sorenson had been standing just beyond Cat's shoulder and nodded his approval to Chakotay before moving away. Cat didn't seem to notice Sorenson as she eyed Chakotay, lifting her glass halfway to her mouth before realizing it was empty and lowering it back to the table.

"Finally sent away my watchdog?" she snarled.

Oh good, Cat was an angry drunk. That was just what he needed. "I wasn't expecting to find you still here."

She watched silently as the waitress sat two more beers with chasers down on the table. Chakotay picked up the shot, dropped it into his beer, and slammed it back. When he set the empty mug down on the table, the shot glass rattling inside it, he saw Cat reaching slowly across the table for the second set. "I don't think so, Cat," he said, moving them out of her reach and closer to his side of the table. "These are both mine."

"But I thought..." She frowned and blinked at him. "What?"

"Do you want another drink?" he asked. "If so, I'll buy the next round."

Her brow was still furrowed as she stared at him. "Are you asking me if I want a drink?"

He chuckled. "Pretty sure that's what I just said."

Without answering him, she looked away, her uncertain gaze tracing absently around the room. Chakotay shook his head and threw back the second shot. The whiskey slid down easy and he picked up his beer, chasing it more slowly this time, only finishing off about half the glass. Cat was still blankly watching the crowd filling the bar.

"So." He rapped his knuckles on the table, drawing her glassy-eyed attention. "Do you want another round or are you done for the night?"

"You want me to choose?"

He shrugged. "It's up to you."

Cat smirked at him and didn't answer. She leaned back in her chair, her head rolling limply on her shoulders until she rested against the wall.

Chakotay took that as a no and sipped his beer. The waitress knew him and would bring him another round soon enough. He noticed Cat's hands held a death grip on the edge of the table. "I'm impressed you're still upright."

"I do what I have to," she said, her eyes half-closed as she rolled her head slightly from side to side.

The pub was kind of filthy and he could see strands of her hair clinging to the wall as she moved her head. "What do you mean?"

"Hurts too much to fall down," she said tiredly. She drunkenly scrubbed a hand over her face. "It's so hot in here. I just wish… it wasn't so hot."

Chakotay could see she had a thin film of sweat on her neck. "You want to go outside? Get some fresh air?"

For a second, her face crumbled like she was about to cry. "I want to sit down."

It was his turn to frown. "Cat, you are sitting down."

She opened her eyes, blinked, looked at the table, looked at him. "I am," she said, sounding surprised to find herself in such a state. "Thank you."

Before he could move, Cat pitched forward onto the table, her head hitting the surface hard enough to rattle the empty glasses. A couple of nearby people turned around to look, most smiled and raised a glass to Chakotay, some of them he knew, some he didn't. He reached over and pushed Cat's hair away from her face; she was out cold. He sighed; he wouldn't be getting drunk tonight after all.

He finished his beer and settled his tab before rousing Cat and pulling her to her feet. For a small woman, she was still pretty heavy dead weight leaning against his side as she allowed him to practically carry her back to the ship. It took them the better part of an hour to make it back to the docking area, as they had to stop twice for her to be sick. Luckily, after four months most of the crew would rather sleep on the street than spend another night on the ship so no one saw her but him. He was just glad she hadn't gotten any on him.

When she tripped and fell trying to walk up the ramp, he sighed and scooped her up into his arms. She felt lighter being carried than she had draped against his side. It was only when he walked into engineering that he realized he had a bit of a problem. He looked up to where her hammock hung between the warp core and the bulkhead. "You're in no condition to climb into your perch tonight, Cat."

She mumbled something against his chest.

He whispered a silent prayer to his ancestors that no one would come back to the ship as he turned and headed out of engineering. As captain, he had very few perks, but one of them was having his own quarters. They were small and cramped but there was a bed and a small refresher, both of which Cat would sorely need, especially come morning.

He set her gently down on the bed, attempting to keep her upright as he tried to get her boots off. When he felt her hand on his shoulder, he looked up and saw that she was crying. In nine months on the ship, he'd never seen her display such naked emotion. "Cat, what is it?"

"You wanna know what the worst part is?" she slurred the question, asking it as if they'd been having a long conversation and she was simply continuing it.

There were lots of things about Cat that he wondered about in quieter moments, but there was an unspoken rule in the Maquis - don't ask. If someone wanted to talk about their problems, their reasons for fighting, it was welcomed, but there were so many who came from situations they simply didn't want to relive. Given what little he knew about Cat, he'd always understood her quiet reluctance. And whatever it was that she considered as 'the worst part', he probably _didn't_ want to know, but he waited silently for her to continue.

"They were already dead." She laughed, a broken, watery chuckle that had her swiping clumsily at her eyes. "All that time I spent imagining what they were doing, celebrating Christmases and birthdays, wondering how their lives were going," She shook her head. "And they were already dead. Had been. For years!"

Only because his father had told him about the loss of her family did he have any idea what she was talking about. "I'm sorry, Cat."

She leaned over, sliding down to the mattress as he lifted her legs onto the bed. "I wanted to go home and walk into the Art Museum of San Francisco and see a sign that said 'Featured artist, Phoebe Janeway.'" She curled in on herself. "But she never even graduated."

Chakotay stashed her boots beneath the rack and pulled the sheet up over her. "Get some sleep, Cat."

He pretended not to see the tears that were soaking into his pillow, and he knew that in the morning this would be a conversation they never had.

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	20. Chapter 20

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Chakotay ran his hand through his hair as he approached the doors leading to engineering. He was dreading this confrontation more than the fight they were about to get into on the planet's surface. No matter how he phrased his argument, she wasn't going to take it well. And that was putting it mildly.

He entered engineering and saw Cat adjusting the long shoulder strap of a phaser rifle. It accompanied the blaster she wore on one hip and the disruptor tucked into the belt on her other side. He also happened to know she carried a knife, extendable billy club, and a holdout phaser that he'd yet to actually see. Her preparation made what he needed to say all the more difficult.

He cleared his throat. "Cat, we need to talk."

"What is it?" she asked, adjusting her belt to sit more securely on her hips. "I'll be ready to go in just a minute."

"Well, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "I don't think you should go on this mission."

All the air in the room seemed to have been suddenly and irretrievably sucked out into space. He wouldn't have been surprised if the warp core had stopped pulsing; after all, its loyalties clearly lay with the woman standing in front of him. The woman who was now staring at him, her hands settling to a stop on the grips of her weapons, making him think twice about his brilliant idea to come unarmed.

"What did you just say?"

She'd heard him. She was giving him a chance to change his mind. He wouldn't, but he decided he could phrase his suggestion better. "You don't have to go on this mission."

One eyebrow arched upwards. "Really? And why is that, exactly?"

"There are two other crews joining us for this one. We have enough people," he tried. It helped that it was the truth. For once, they actually did have the numbers on their side.

Her eyes narrowed. "It isn't about numbers, Chakotay."

No, it wasn't, not entirely. It was about her; it was about this particular mission. It was about her being less than three years removed from her own version of hell. "I don't want you down there," he admitted. "It's going to be… rough."

Understanding dawned in her eyes followed quickly by rage. "You don't trust me to handle myself down there?"

Her voice was sharp enough to cut. "It's not that-"

She didn't let him finish. "Then what is it?"

"Cat, it just… it doesn't have to be you this time."

She shook her head. "No, this is the mission I have to go on."

He rubbed his hand over his face. She was only getting angrier and his arguments were only becoming more personal. "Some of these prisoners have been held at this location for over a year," he tried again. "They haven't been treated well."

"You think I don't know that?!" She snapped. "You think I don't know _exactly_ what they've been through?" She was incensed. "What the hell do you think I was doing for eight years; having a fucking picnic with the spoonheads?"

He grabbed her arm as she tried to stalk past him and then caught her fist as she swung to hit him. "Cut it out, Cat! Of course, I don't think that." He released her with a push. "Now calm down!"

Her chest was heaving with every breath, she was so angry. "You think I can't handle this mission and you want me to calm down?" She paced like a trapped animal. "I'm the best asset you could have for this operation."

"I know you are, damn it! But would you just stop and think about this for one damn second," he yelled, momentarily losing his patience. He forced himself to calm down. "Everything we will see down there is going to be a living nightmare for you. Are you really sure you can handle that?"

"I'm one of the best fighters on this ship," she argued, ignoring his insinuations. "And if those other two ships' crews are as green as ours, I'm one of the best fighters on this whole damn mission."

"Yes, you are," he agreed easily. With the latest crew turnover they'd had, she _was_ one of the best fighters on the _Val Jean_ , second only to him and Ayala. "But that still doesn't mean you have to go down there, Cat."

"You can't keep me from going, Chakotay."

He huffed out a short breath. "Actually, I can. I'm the captain; I say who goes and who stays."

Her pacing slowed and she faced him, stared him down as she promised, "If you leave me on this ship, I won't be here when you get back."

Now he felt real anger at her. "Are you threatening me?"

Surprisingly, she heeded the danger in his voice and backed off her threat. "Please, Chakotay, I have to go down there. You have to let me do this."

His hands settled on his hips and he used his height over her to his full advantage. "Why?"

She flinched, almost backing away from him. "It's something I need to do."

"Tell me why," he insisted. She squeezed her eyes shut against the demand and he could see the muscle in her jaw flex as she ground her teeth together. "Cat," he said more gently, "tell me why this is so important to you."

She exhaled shakily. "Because when I escaped, before your people found me… I left people behind." She wouldn't hold his gaze, looking everywhere but at him. "I ran. I didn't…" She shook her head. "I didn't try to free anyone else. I didn't even look; I just ran away." She swallowed thickly. "You were there. You know the lives of those prisoners left on that rock did not end well. Not after… not after everything that happened that night."

"As I recall, you were unconscious when we broke orbit," he said. "We weren't there to rescue prisoners that night. I made the call to leave people behind - not you."

She shook her head, refusing to accept his logic. "You don't understand. I didn't even try to help them."

The communicator sewn inside his vest vibrated twice against his chest. It was time to go. He scrubbed a hand over his face as Cat watched him, a mixture of fear, grief, and something he couldn't quite name twisting her expression. He sighed and pointed a finger at her. "You stay by my side on this one."

Relief flooded her face and one corner of her mouth actually curled upwards. "Fine."

"I mean it."

"I know." She nodded agreeably, far more agreeably than she had ever been about anything. She picked up the phaser rifle that was propped against the bulkhead. "You ready to go?"

If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was heading out for a night on the town, but he did know better. For a brief moment, Chakotay had seen Cat's true emotions; the fear and anguish she usually kept hidden behind a stoic facade and the guilt she'd been carrying around for three years had been revealed, but then, like the flick of a switch, she had shut her emotions off. She was good at that.

Too good.

But like so many things in the Maquis, he simply didn't have the time to think about it. The badge in his vest vibrated again; they were waiting on him. _She_ was waiting on him, standing just inside the door to engineering, looking expectantly at him. They had work to do, and he gestured for her to go ahead of him. As he followed her out into the corridor, he shook his head. "Damn it."

She pretended not to hear him.

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	21. Chapter 21

**Notes:** Two chapters today since they're both kind of short. Really glad you're liking Maquis Janeway! Thank you for continuing to read.

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 _The restraints cut into her wrists. They were tight, too tight, and she hated them. Camet knew she preferred the force fields; it's why he used the physical restraints._

 _"You handled that well, Twenty-five," Camet crooned beside her, entering data onto a PADD. "A year ago that would've made you cry out. The adaptability of your species to pain is remarkable. I'm truly impressed."_

 _The wound still burned even as Camet gave her the twisted praise. She couldn't be sure what sounds she would make so she kept her mouth closed, but she knew that he expected some sort of response. She nodded._

 _"Good, good," he said, cheerfully. "This time we'll increase the temperature by five degrees."_

 _The scream tore from her throat within seconds._

Kathryn was still screaming when she jerked free of the restraints, threw off the covers, and scrambled backwards until her back hit the wall at the head of her cot. The sterile bright lights of Camet's lab faded from her vision and were replaced by the shadowy contours of her temporary quarters. She was gulping air and still staring at her surroundings when the pounding started. She jumped again, grabbing for the phaser she kept within reach.

"Cat! Is everything all right?" Chakotay's voice boomed from the other side of her door. "Cat, open the door."

She wiped sweat soaked hair away from her face and placed the phaser back on the bed. "I'm fine," she said quietly. Too quietly. There was no way he'd heard her through the door.

"Cat, open the door," he demanded again. "Open the door or I'm opening it for you."

She put her feet down to the floor, her heart still racing. Damn Camet to hell. Six months. Six whole months without a nightmare and now, after three missions, they were back and as bad as they had ever been. Chakotay pounded on the door again, jarring her nerves. "Hold on," she managed loud enough for him to hear. "I'm coming, just… wait."

She shakily crossed the four steps it took to get to the door and triggered it to slide open. Chakotay barged past her, scanning all the dark corners of the quarters before looking at her. He moved closer. "Are you all right?"

She backed away from him, hating herself for the instinctive action, but needing the space. "Yeah, I'm… sorry." She ran a shaky hand over her face. "It was just a nightmare."

He stood back, reassuring himself as he took in her appearance that she wasn't harmed. "I heard screaming."

"Yeah, I, uh…sorry." She looked down at the loose tank top and shorts she had worn to bed and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. She couldn't look at him. He'd warned her, tried to get her to stay on the ship, and she hadn't. Now her subconscious was exacting its price for her stubbornness, dredging up past memories and making her relive them. She tried to steady her voice. "I'll be fine."

He nodded. "It's okay. It was a difficult mission," he offered. "We were lucky."

That was an understatement. It was supposed to have been their third rescue mission in as many months. The missions to the first two prisons they'd liberated had run like clockwork, but this time they'd been doomed from the start. There had only been two Maquis ships this time to handle the raid, and by the time they'd limped away, only the _Val Jean_ had been salvageable. There had been no prisoners on the moon, and they'd only been able to beam four Maquis survivors off the _Prophet's Wrath_. Only two were expected to live. The entire operation had been a set up; the Cardassians had been waiting for them.

Chakotay edged towards the door. "I'll just go and let you get back to sleep."

She huffed a dry laugh and shook her head. "No, I don't think I'll be getting any more sleep tonight." She glanced at her roommate's empty bunk and was thankful the young woman found Ken's bed to be far more comfortable than her own. "Hope I didn't bother anybody else."

Chakotay stopped at the door and looked down the short row of tenements. "I doubt it," he told her. "I only heard you because I happened to be walking by."

"At this time of night?" She wasn't sure what time it was exactly, but she knew it had been after midnight when she'd finally crashed.

She'd been keeping late hours trying to fix the _Val Jean_ ever since they'd arrived at this backwater colony. The small, rundown houses they were staying in were not her favorite; she missed her hammock, but the ship had scattered parts and broken bits of machinery everywhere. The tenements, or Skid Row as some enterprising (probably bored) Maquis member had named them - even going so far as to post a sign made out of broken shuttle parts - weren't in great condition, but at least she didn't have to worry about slipping in containment fluid and gouging herself on some broken piece of bulkhead. They'd been incredibly lucky to land the _Val Jean_ in one piece.

Chakotay shrugged. "Like I said, it was a difficult mission; I couldn't sleep either." He gestured towards the end of Skid Row. "Thought I'd go over to the gym and wear myself out. Why don't you join me?"

"Join you?" she scoffed. "Mike's weight bench and a heavy bag do not make that burned-out hulk of a shuttle a gym."

He eyed her skeptically. "Have you ever tried boxing before?"

She shook her head. "A world of no."

"Come on then." He was grinning. "Throw some workout clothes on and I'll teach you. It'll be another element of fighting you can add to your bag of tricks."

"I don't know…" She hesitated.

He stepped out onto the dirt path. "I promise that if you come with me, you'll be so tired afterwards you'll have no problems sleeping."

She glanced at her tangled bed sheets and the uninviting prospect of trying to go back to sleep. "Let me get changed and I'll meet you over there."

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	22. Chapter 22

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Chakotay watched Cat walk around his shuttle, inspecting it for damage while other members of their crew unloaded the supplies he'd brought. He knew she wouldn't be happy; he'd put at least four new scorch marks on it. In his estimation only one spot needed immediate repair though, an argument he was prepared to make on his own behalf if needed. She walked over to his side, staring up at the smoking nacelle.

"You know," she drawled, "we're never going to get ahead if I have to use the supplies you get to repair _new_ broken parts instead of the parts that needed fixing in the first place."

Chakotay rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at the still-sparking conduits. "What can I say? Port masters are never fond of someone cutting out on their docking bill." He gave her a tired smile. "At least you have job security."

"I don't need more work; I have plenty as it is." She grabbed his hand and turned it over, examining the reddened skin and singed arm hair. "Seems it was a little bit of a closer call than you made it out to be."

He extracted his hand from hers. "Only a little."

"Did you go to Medical?"

He shook his head.

"Damn it, Chakotay," she muttered under her breath as she returned to her study of the shuttle. She frowned at the scorch marks. "Standard Federation firing pattern."

He nodded and indicated the nacelle. "And Cardassian." She glanced at him in alarm, but he only shrugged. "It was just a patrol ship."

He saw the fear in her eyes before she turned away from him to blankly study her PADD. It had been six months since her first boxing lesson. More than once since then he'd found her at odd hours of the night pounding away on the heavy bag in the _Val Jean's_ tiny cargo bay. They never spoke about it, but he was sure that if it ever came down to it, Cat would die before she'd let herself get captured by the Cardassians again.

To lighten her mood, he bumped her shoulder with his. "I brought you something else you've been asking for."

She glanced at the items she'd checked off her list and looked up at him. "A new warp core?"

He barked out a short laugh. "No. Something better." He indicated the young woman that was helping Ayala unload the shuttle. "Another pair of hands."

It took Cat a minute to realize what he meant and then her jaw dropped. "Chakotay, you can't be serious! That girl looks like she's barely twelve years old."

He winced. "Actually, she's nineteen. She just dropped out of the Academy."

Cat looked incredulous. "And what the hell am I supposed to do with her?"

"Train her," he said. "Make her an engineer. She's willing to learn, and she's a hell of a fighter."

"How would you know that?" she asked, giving the girl a little more scrutiny.

"Found her outside a bar fighting off two guys at once; she'd already knocked a third guy out cold."

"Good for her." Cat nodded in appreciation. "At least she won't be a complete waste of time."

Chakotay rounded on her. "You haven't spoken two words to her and you've already decided she's a waste of time?"

Cat held up a hand to hold him off. "Actually, I said she _won't_ be a complete waste of time."

"She's a natural engineer," he insisted.

"Then why is she here and not at the Academy?" she countered. "I seem to recall Starfleet having much better ships to work on than we do."

"She's got a temper," Chakotay admitted, "problems with authority, and a stubborn streak."

"And you want to pair her with me? In a small engine room aboard a ship?" Cat's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Are you working for the Cardassians? Is this a plot to undermine the Maquis movement?"

He actually laughed and enjoyed the wry smile on Cat's face at her accomplishment. It wouldn't be smooth sailing, but he admitted, "I think you'll be good for her, Cat."

Cat looked past his shoulder at the young woman watching them, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Cat squinted. "Mixed heritage?"

The definition of ridges on the girl's forehead was barely visible in the poor lighting of the bay. Chakotay nodded. "Uh-huh. Klingon."

Cat pinched the bridge of her nose, allowing him to hear her quiet groan. "I don't really have a choice in this, do I?"

"Nope." He clapped her on the shoulder.

The glare she gave him was mild. "Fine. I'll start training her tomorrow."

"We may not have time tomorrow," he said, wisely backing away. "Might as well start now."

"Chakotay!"

He waved the young woman over to join them. "Torres, this is Cat. She's the chief engineer for our cell, and she's probably worked on every ship the Maquis flies. You can learn a lot from her."

Cat smiled sweetly at him, promising revenge before turning and extending her hand in greeting to Torres. "I heard you've got a temper."

Torres nodded tightly. "I heard you've got a great left hook."

They both glared at Chakotay. He held up his hands in surrender and began backing away. "I'll just leave you two to it then."

He considered telling them not to break anything, but saw that he'd already been forgotten.

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	23. Chapter 23

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"Akecheta, it's been five years," the old man said, cradling his cup of tea against his chest as he sat across from her at the worn table. "Tell me, why have you not returned to Earth in all that time?"

She smiled as she always did at his use of her nickname; the curl of her lips was a little sad and a little loving all at once. He'd never told Chakotay her real name or her family name, and he was fairly certain she'd never told any of the Maquis her connection to Starfleet. He wondered if she even thought of herself as her old name anymore. It was hard to live a life with no past.

"We've been over this before, old man," Cat replied, not unkindly. "There's nothing on Earth for me to return to." She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I haven't stayed busy."

"So, I hear," he said, gently pushing a plate of cookies closer to her. "The way Chakotay tells it, you keep that ship of his strung together with spit and baling wire."

"Throw in a dash of Irish tenacity and some Klingon stubbornness and you'll be closer to the truth than I'd like to admit." She took a cookie off the plate. "It's been a rough year."

"Yes, I heard about the attack on the munitions base. Was anyone hurt?"

"No, we dodged a bullet on that one. Literally." A shadow entered her eyes making them appear harder than usual. "We took advantage of their mistake, and if all goes according to plan, the Cardies are going to have one less munitions factory with only themselves to blame."

Kolopak had seen that shadow in the eyes of many fighters over the years; he hated seeing it in hers. He changed the subject. "Sounds like this month of repairs and downtime has been necessary for all of you."

"It's been well earned," she admitted, "but I think most of us are ready to get back into the fight. There is such a thing as too much downtime."

"Too bad my son couldn't stay to enjoy more of it."

"As the captain and cell leader he has more responsibilities than the rest of us. He wouldn't even tell me where the meeting he was going to was being held." She grinned. "But he should be back today or tomorrow, and if he's smart, he'll bring back an entire case of _jumja_ sticks."

Kolopak shook his head in disgust. "Too sweet for me." He considered what she said and the look of utter smugness on her face. "You think he had to go to Bajor then?"

She snagged another cookie. "Or a space station nearby."

"And just how would you know that if he didn't tell you?"

"I'm a Maquis, old man," she laughed. "I have my ways."

He enjoyed her laugh and wished he heard it more often. The way things were he could count on one hand the times he'd heard it, and her smile was seen only slightly more often. Despite the obvious progress she had made since he'd first met her, Kolopak longed for the day when the woman in front of him would truly be whole. He knew the war would eventually end, as all wars do, and he'd seen how his son looked at her. He didn't feel it was beyond possibility to imagine that, one day, he could have grand-kids running around the house.

"Kolopak?" her voice broke into his reverie. "What is it?"

He patted her hand and knew better than to tell her the truth. "Tell me about this new engineer you have working with you. It's been a year and a half since she joined your crew and I have yet to meet her."

"B'Elanna Torres," she said simply. "Half-Klingon and all attitude. I think you'd like her."

He spent the next half-hour listening to Cat both praise and curse the young woman that had taken up residence in her engine room. B'Elanna had guile, intellect, and an amazing ability to improvise; she also had enough stubbornness and temper that she and Cat had come to blows on more than one occasion. Cat admitted, reluctantly, that the only reason she had won each fight was because she hadn't fought fair – a distinct advantage. She'd thought for sure that as soon as B'Elanna was offered a different ship she'd leave ion trails in her wake, but the young woman had surprised her again.

Chakotay's old friend Sveta had shown up one day and offered B'Elanna a place on her ship right in front of Chakotay and Cat. Torres had turned her down flat without a moment's hesitation.

"Naturally, Chakotay and I both jumped on Sveta right away," Cat explained. "It's just rude to try and pilfer crewmen from a friend's crew right in front of them, but Sveta soothed things over."

"And how did she do that?" Kolopak asked.

"She bought the next rounds of drinks."

"Ah. Of course."

Cat looked thoughtful. "She also pulled me aside later and explained that she'd done it on purpose just to show us how loyal B'Elanna was to us. At the time I just thought she was trying to make amends, but now I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"Sveta has always been a good judge of character. She's filled half the ranks of the Maquis with her recruits." She paused, considering her words. "She said that we needed to know that we could trust B'Elanna and that B'Elanna needed to know that we wanted her with us."

"I'd like to meet her," Kolopak said. "Promise me, you'll bring her with you next time."

"I will," she promised. "You may regret it though." She winked and got to her feet. "I better make my way into town and find the crew before Chakotay gets back. I'm sure they're all at the pub."

"Well, it is the only real dining and rooming establishment we have here," Kolopak said, walking her to the door.

"Convenient, isn't it?" She smirked and gave him a quick one-arm hug. "Is Chakotay going to come here first before he heads into town?"

"He usually does. That way he can just leave from town."

Cat nodded. "I'll see you next time, old man."

"Stay safe, Akecheta," he whispered to the winds as he waved her away. He looked up to the clear sky and considered some of the things he would mention to his son when he arrived. There were some things Chakotay would never notice unless they were pointed out to him, and if Kolopak had to be the one to do the pointing – so be it. It would likely be an interesting, contentious, and long conversation as matters of the heart usually were.

Unfortunately, the Cardassians began their attack shortly after Chakotay arrived.

* * *

Chakotay landed the small fighter he'd borrowed as close to the smoking ruins of the settlement as he could. The attack had started within an hour of his arrival. He hadn't expected to use his new contacts quite so soon, but he immediately sent a distress signal. The Maquis wouldn't be able to stay and expect aid, but the rest of the civilians of the settlement could be helped.

Even destroyed, he knew his way through town. He hurried past stunned civilians, making his way towards the one building where he hoped to find any of his crew still alive. The smoking husk of the pub was easily visible from the middle of the street. Only two of its four walls were still standing and smoke poured from behind the still-crumbling stone.

There was a small knot of dust-covered people standing near the corner. He recognized two of them. "Hogan! Jarvin!"

They turned as one, Jarvin's hand reaching for the weapon on his hip as Hogan stepped in front of the third person Chakotay hadn't noticed sitting on the ground. As he got closer, he could see Mariah's normally dark hair was a mix of grey dust and dark blood, but she was alive, holding a towel to her head.

Before Chakotay could ask anything, Dalby and Fitzpatrick appeared, staggering out of the rubble, supporting Gerron between them. Dalby took one look at Chakotay and jerked his head towards the destruction behind him. "Cat and Torres are still in there!"

It was all Chakotay needed to hear and he scrambled past them. "Torres! Cat!"

"Here!" Torres coughed, her voice sounded like it was floating upwards from the floor. Chakotay ducked under a bramble of sparking wires and found her kneeling on the floor.

Blood dripped down the side of her face as she mumbled. "Cat's trapped… can't leave-"

A fit of coughing cut off the last of her sentence. Chakotay pulled her to her feet. "Where is she? Where's Cat?"

Torres slumped against his chest, but she managed to point towards the collapsed wall. "She's trapped under… it all came down…"

The sparking bundle of wires was pushed aside and Mike Ayala appeared at Chakotay's elbow. "The attack isn't over. They widened their area and made a pass over the outlying houses. They're destroying everything."

"Get everybody back to the ship," Chakotay ordered as he assisted B'Elanna over to Mike. "I've got to get Cat out of here."

"She's alive, Chakotay," B'Elanna managed before passing out against Ayala's chest.

Ayala easily lifted her into his arms. "Hurry."

Chakotay nodded and ducked into the dust, stumbling over loose debris as he made his way to the back. It was a wonder anyone survived. The Cardassians had held nothing back in their attack, and it was sheer luck they hadn't completely leveled the pub. He tossed an overturned table out of his way and shielded his face from an outpouring of smoke; time was slipping away from him.

"Cat!" He pulled a tricorder from his pocket and scanned the debris expecting nothing but detecting a faint life sign from the pile of wreckage on his right. "Cat!"

He finally saw her; the worn and faded brown boots that she favored were covered in pale dust protruding from beneath a pile of rubble. "Hold on, Cat. Hold on. I'm going to get you out of here."

He heard her moan and managed to throw off several large chunks of rubble that were partially covering her, but it took only a second glance to know he wouldn't be able to get her free. She was pinned beneath the building's main support column and all the roofing that it carried with it. It was amazing she wasn't already dead, but something he couldn't see, some piece of wall or furniture was keeping the column from crushing her completely. It would only take a small bit of jarring for it to collapse entirely.

He could see her face, partially obscured by dust and hair, a smudge of blood at her temple. Her eyes were closed, but it was clear she was in pain. He scanned the tricorder over the portion of her body that he had uncovered. She had internal bleeding, multiple fractures, and a collapsed lung. It was possible she'd survive with the proper medical attention, but it would take more than anything the Maquis had available. Chakotay ran a hand through his hair, dislodging dust and bits of rock.

He could save her, but she'd hate him for it. He glanced behind him, ensuring he was alone, before slipping his hand into the concealed breast pocket of his vest. He pulled out a Starfleet-issue combadge and activated it.

"Commander Chakotay to approaching Starfleet vessel. Medical emergency. Perform a transport at this location immediately upon detection."

He set the badge for continuous transmission and slipped it down inside Cat's exposed boot. It was the best he could do for her; it was _all_ he could do for her. At least, this way, she had a chance. He grasped her shoulder and offered a quick prayer to his ancestors to watch over her before he ducked back out the way he'd entered.

* * *

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	24. Chapter 24

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* * *

Major Kira Nerys strode through the Promenade, mentally tasking herself with everything else she could be doing at the moment.

"Major, have you been summoned as well?" Sisko asked, falling in step beside her.

"The doctor seemed pretty excited about something," she said dryly. "The word in Quark's is that the Alliance for Global Humanity delivered a dozen survivors to us. They were simply willing to help?"

"They claimed they were in the area," Sisko said diplomatically. "They brought the direst cases to us while Starfleet remained in orbit to offer assistance to the survivors on the planet's surface."

"The way I hear it, they won't be needed for long," she said unable to keep the anger from her tone. "The Cardassians didn't leave much."

"Hmmm," he mused. "What do you know about this Alliance for Global Humanity?"

She frowned at his change of subject; she'd been spoiling for an argument. "You don't like them?"

"I didn't say that," he paused at the door of the medical bay. "After you."

She eyed him for a second longer before walking past him and into the medical bay. All of the biobeds were occupied, but the level of activity was calm. "Doctor?"

The young doctor's head popped out from behind a console. "Ah, Major, Commander, thank you for coming down."

"You said you wanted to show us something." Sisko looked around the medical area. "How are the survivors?"

"Well, one of them is the reason I asked you to come down." Bashir guided them towards a biobed occupied by an unconscious Terran woman. "This is one of the survivors of the massacre at Dorvan V. Her injuries were severe and I'm rather astonished that she lived long enough to receive treatment, but that's not all. When I scanned her, the computer identified her as _Ensign_ Kathryn Janeway."

Sisko didn't mask his surprise and looked more closely at the unconscious woman. "She's a member of Starfleet?"

"That's not the most remarkable thing," Bashir said, his excitement bleeding over his professionalism. "Her record lists her as deceased. It was reported that she and Admiral Owen Paris died in a shuttle accident thirteen years ago."

"Thirteen years?" Kira frowned. "Where the hell has she been?"

"I think I can tell you where she spent, at least, some of that time." Bashir gently turned the woman's arm over to reveal a tattoo of eight dark lines, each longer than the next, spanning the underside of her forearm. The first line was only a few centimeters long while the eighth line reached all the way from her wrist to her elbow. "Do you recognize this mark, Major?"

Kira gasped, reaching out with her fingers to gently trace over the markings. "By the Prophets."

"Major?"

Kira recovered herself and explained, "This a mark the Obsidian Order gives to its prisoners. Each line denotes the anniversary of a year spent in their care." She stared at the woman's face; the vaguest flicker of memory tickled the back of her mind, but she'd seen a lot during the Occupation. Most of it she didn't want to remember. She shook off the past before it could take hold, but she couldn't keep herself from once again touching the lines. "What this woman must have gone through to have survived for eight years…"

* * *

A foggy sense of pain and confusion sharpened by lights that were too bright; it seemed to be a recurring theme in her life. She didn't dare open her eyes; the overabundance of light that she could see through closed lids was bright enough to make the ache in her head pound harder. Or maybe it was the spike of adrenalin that rushed through her as she became more aware of her surroundings.

Bright lights. Pain. Low murmuring voices. That slightly antiseptic bite in the air. The low beeps and sounds of monitoring machines. She was nowhere she wanted to be, and as the familiar heat of fear coursed through her veins, she heard the beeps increase in time.

She needed to calm down; she was setting off alarms with her racing pulse, but it was too late. Someone had already taken notice. She could hear them approaching her bed, the rustle of clothes too close to her head as her medical alarms were silenced.

"Kathryn, can you hear me?"

Against her own intentions, her eyes flew open at the unexpected use of her name. She closed them just as quickly, the glare proving as painful as she'd expected.

But the voice didn't seem to notice. "You're safe, Ensign. No one will hurt you here."

 _Ensign?_ What the hell was going on? She blinked open her eyes, squinting at the young man standing near her shoulder. He was Terran and appeared to be running a scanning device of some sort near her head. She flinched away from him, tried to push herself as far away as she could only to discover that wasn't very far at all. She couldn't feel anything below her waist and a new rush of fear burned through her.

"…please, calm down," the young man was saying, his scanner put away for the moment. He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her down as she tried desperately to sit up. "You're going to be fine."

"My legs," she managed to gasp out, sitting up enough against him that she could see they were, at least, still there.

"You were injured," he said calmly. "I've healed you, but as a precaution I've immobilized you from the waist down so the bones have time to properly set. You're going to be fine," he repeated. "You will have complete mobility, I promise."

She relaxed; not because she believed him but because her strength was giving out. She felt weak and tired. Always so damn tired. The young man was still talking, making promises and assurances, but his voice was fading, becoming so faint she could hardly hear him. It was better that way.

He was still there when she woke up several hours later. He smiled. "Hello there."

He had a nice smile and a lovely accent; she grimaced and swallowed dryly. "Are you…doctor?"

"Yes. My name is Doctor Julian Bashir." He offered the tip of a straw to her lips. "Take a small sip of this. It's just water, but it should help."

She'd learned a long time ago to sip slowly when her throat felt as raw as it did now. The cool water was a blessing and she took several sips before pushing it away. "Wh-where-"

"Deep Space Nine," he answered and began scanning her. "Don't worry. You're quite safe here, Kathryn."

He wore a different uniform than any she'd seen lately, but it was still clearly Starfleet. "How do you know my name?"

"When I operated on you to repair your injuries, your DNA profile identified you in the system." He paused. "Despite being listed as deceased, you are Ensign Kathryn Janeway."

She didn't bother denying it. "How did I get here?"

"You were brought here in dire need of medical attention." He paused again. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Kathryn closed her eyes; what did she remember? Smoke and pain. Her lungs burning. Hands tugging at her; rock scraping against her skin. Pale hands and dark boots. A familiar voice calling her back to consciousness. A warm hand squeezing her shoulder. Chakotay's broad shoulders disappearing into the smoke as he walked away.

He'd left her. She'd opened her eyes in time to see him leaving. She'd tried to call out to him but there'd been no sound, nothing she could hear over the ringing in her ears. She'd thought he'd come back. That perhaps he'd gone to get help. But he didn't.

He'd never looked back, and he'd never returned for her. She'd been left for dead just as she'd done to all those prisoners years before.

"I remember being left for dead, Doctor." She opened her eyes, embracing the painful glare of the lights. "Which is exactly what I deserved."

* * *

In the middle of the night, a solitary figure stole quietly into the medical bay and observed the woman lying on the biobed. Most people would believe she was sleeping or unconscious. He knew she wasn't. She'd woken up the second he'd entered the room, and he knew that she was silently waiting for him to reveal himself.

She looked harder than when he'd seen her last, and that was saying something.

It had been almost nine years since he'd last seen her. No one had been more disappointed than he when she'd become recalcitrant. Camet's program had been significantly set back by the intern's idiocy, but the Order's plans had been diminished as well. The woman then known as Twenty-five could've been a fantastic asset.

He'd tried, of course, to engage her after that unfortunate incident with the botched pregnancy, but she'd never been the same. She'd viewed him as nothing more than a Cardassian after that. There was no more conversation between them. She'd responded to his questions succinctly and politely, but there had been no banter. For all intents and purposes, she'd gone silent, and he'd truly missed their conversations.

He doubted, however, that she would recall their times together as favorably as he did. And so, standing in the medical bay with no more than ten meters between them, he remained in the shadows. She knew only that someone was in the room; she didn't know who was there. It would have to remain that way.

Unfortunately, she knew things about him that the current residents of Deep Space Nine did not need to know. He had it on good authority that she would not be strolling the Promenade any time soon and therefore he had no fear she would stumble upon him. The Federation's plans for her were, as usual, unimaginative and short-sighted.

He had no doubt that she would survive the Federation's idiocy; it's what she did. He liked to think that there was still a chance he could enjoy a future conversation with her. The topics he could broach with an unrestrained, more mature version of her would be fascinating, and he looked forward to the day.

But it wouldn't happen tonight. Tonight, he would disappear back into the bowels of the station and wait for the day when she would approach him.

* * *

Kathryn sat on the edge of the biobed, holding onto her patience as the doctor stood behind her, running a device over her shoulder. He had been amazed at the numerous injuries she had incurred since her file had been last updated and had insisted on documenting everything (and healing it all correctly). The complete examination had revealed torn tendons haphazardly regenerated, fractured bones repaired and broken again, and multiple surgical sites for reasons he could not explain as anything other than exploratory. _More like "experimental,"_ she'd thought to herself. The good doctor had even found two inactive subdermal devices that had apparently been forgotten.

"I'm amazed you're still alive," he said, moving around to her front, continuing to make passes with a regenerator. "The injuries you initially presented should have been enough to kill you, and all these others…"

He trailed off upon noticing her expression and sobered his tone. "My apologies, I don't mean to offend."

"I'm just a bleeding medical miracle, Doc; I get it." She held her tattooed arm out towards him. "Get rid of these for me, and we'll call it even."

His boyish face appeared even more crestfallen at the sight of her eight lines. "I'm afraid I can't."

"Why not?"

"They're not simple tattoos. The Cardassians use a chemical in the branding process that can't be removed," he tried explaining. "It's not just an ink that's embedded beneath your tissue, but a chemical that is bonded to them."

"Fine." She pulled the sleeve back down to her wrist, covering up the offensive lines. "Are we done here?"

"I'm afraid not." The station's chief of security, a changeling called Odo according to the good doctor, and Major Kira entered the medical bay and approached the biobed. "Apparently, there's been a development regarding your status."

"My _status_ ," Kathryn repeated and looked to Kira to explain. The doctor had been quite the talker; he'd been more than happy to explain how a Bajoran major was working with Starfleet on a former Cardassian space station.

"Starfleet is detaining you for questioning, regarding your role with the Maquis," Kira spat, her eyes flashing daggers at the doctor. "In the eyes of the Federation, the Maquis are considered an insurgent group."

"You were brought here from the site of a known Maquis settlement," Odo explained further. "There is enough evidence to consider you either a member of the Maquis or, at least, a collaborator."

"I tried to stop this from happening," Kira said, "but despite being listed as dead, you're still a Starfleet officer. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Odo noticed Kathryn eyeing the door. "Starfleet security is on its way here now to escort you to a ship that will take you back to Earth."

Sadly, it didn't surprise her, but she shifted her gaze to look coolly at the doctor. "You knew about this?"

"No," he said immediately, but continued, "Commander Sisko ordered me to keep you here under medical care, but I didn't know why."

"Commander Sisko was ordered to take you into custody immediately," Odo offered, "but he felt you would be more comfortable here than in the brig."

"Apparently, there are a lot of people back at your headquarters that really want to talk to you," Kira said.

Two men dressed in security yellow entered the medical bay and positioned themselves by the door; Odo acknowledged them and then turned back to Kathryn. "It is likely you will be faced with court-martial for aiding and abetting terrorists."

Bashir grimaced. "I'm truly sorry for this. I'll include everything that I've found in my report to Starfleet. Perhaps it will help with leniency."

Kathryn shook her head and slid off the biobed. "Next time, Doc, just let me die."

* * *

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	25. Chapter 25

**Notes:** Thanks for continuing to read. I'm guessing you can see where this is going, but don't worry, there are still a few bumps in the road ahead. Two chapters today since this one is a little short.

* * *

"I'm looking for Kathryn Janeway."

She heard her name and poked her head up from underneath the console where she was working. She saw the idiot Korent pointing over to where she was working, directing the Starfleet officer right to her. The young commander saw her watching and an easy smile broke out on his face. He probably got a lot of women with that smile.

She sighed and looked at the circuitry she was almost finished repairing. By the look of the officer, someone else was going to have to finish this project. She'd been in the New Zealand Penal Settlement for thirteen months, serving two years of a ten-year sentence. The Federation had been kind enough to consider the eight years she'd spent as a Cardassian prisoner as time served.

During her first seven months in the facility, she'd spent a majority of her waking hours in interrogations; Starfleet had called the sessions "interviews." She'd been made to recount every moment of the eight years she'd spent in hell, starting with her and the admiral's shuttle coming under fire all the way through to the terrorist attack on the facility which led to her joining the Maquis.

It had been a special kind of torture, educating the Federation on what the Cardassians were really like. In one of her more emotional outbursts, she'd strongly suggested that her interrogators simply go and read her file; she'd also suggested where they could shove the files afterwards. She may have even questioned the legitimacy of their lineage, but she just hadn't understood how they could know so little.

Chakotay had told her once that the Maquis had retrieved prisoner records from the facility where she had been held. He'd only glanced at them before transmitting them out; the encryption on them had been more than he'd been able to crack. But Starfleet had been in possession of the records for years now, surely, they'd decrypted the files, learned that her existence had lasted long past the six weeks the Cardassians had claimed.

Turned out that Starfleet's perpetuation of ignorance regarding the Cardassians had been prolific. Yes, Starfleet had received the files, but they'd been highly classified and buried almost immediately. Kathryn had politely suggested to her interrogators that they might want to start digging. That particular session had not ended well. The counselors had had a field day with her hostility towards Starfleet and the Federation.

And that was _before_ they'd started questioning her about Maquis activities.

But lately, the many officers and doctors coming to see her had finally slowed. She was down to bi-weekly sessions with the facility's assigned counselor. Her continued cooperation with the waste-of-time meetings was a condition of her continuing sentence. A sentence that had just had four months tacked on for a fight that she'd been involved in near the cafeteria the previous week. She hadn't started the fight, but she had finished it.

The young commander reached the console where she was working. He asked, "Kathryn Janeway?"

She nodded, barely acknowledging him despite his easy countenance; the blonde hair and blue eyes weren't difficult to look at as long as you could get past those three Starfleet pips on his collar.

He shifted his stance so that his hands were draped behind his back. "I'm Commander Tom… Paris."

This time her eyes went straight to his. The tips of his ears turned pink under her new scrutiny, but damned if he wasn't who he said he was. She could see it now…especially in the eyes.

 _Shattered blue eyes that could barely look at her as he mumbled his apologies._

And then tried to kill her.

She went back to her work, picking up the console's interface component so she could begin adjusting it. "Yeah. So?"

Tom cleared his throat. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you about a possible deal that could secure an early release for you."

She didn't believe him for a second. "Look, Commander, I've got work to do," she said, preparing to slide back under the console. "I don't really have time to talk about pipe dreams and unlikely scenarios."

"Actually, it would seem that time is something you have plenty of," he countered cheerfully, "fifteen months of it to be exact. Assuming you stay on your best behavior." He smiled when she glared at him. "And let's be honest, good behavior isn't your strong suit."

"I have anger management issues, post traumatic stress, and about a hundred other things wrong with me according to the esteemed facility counselors," she said. "I'm allowed to have a few bad days."

"You've had more bad days than good," Tom said. "I'm surprised they even let you handle a hypospanner."

Kathryn slammed down the tool in question and got to her feet. "If I'm such a bad case, why would you want to get me out early? Wouldn't it be better to just leave me locked up?"

"I think you've spent enough time locked up," he told her in all seriousness. "Besides, I've got a thing for hard luck cases, and I think if anyone in the universe deserves a second chance it's you." When she still seemed unconvinced, he continued, "Come on, take a walk with me. Let me put an idea in your head."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you have a choice." He grinned. "But… one choice gets you out of prison and off of Earth while the other lets you get back to repairing an obsolete console."

She sighed. "Lead the way, Commander."

* * *

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	26. Chapter 26

**Notes:** This is quite possibly my favorite chapter. I just like how it turned out. It also contains the alternate title I almost gave this story - A Pleasant Fiction.

* * *

The former operative knew at once that someone had entered his shop. He called out, "I'll be right with you."

The silence that answered his greeting made his danger sense tick up a notch. The majority of the crowds swarming the Promenade on a daily basis were generally polite. If they didn't return his greetings then at least they barked for immediate acknowledgement. Silence was a different response entirely.

Before he stepped out in the open, he checked the surveillance monitors. _She_ stood stock still next to the front display table. Clearly, her presence in his store was no mere accident as he found himself looking into her eyes as she gazed directly at his very concealed cameras. He found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in days.

Kathryn Janeway stood with her arms crossed over her chest and hips cocked to one side. "I heard your name while I was having a meal at Quark's."

"Of course, you had to come by and see for yourself," Garak said, emerging from the back. He saw the breath she took in at the sight of him. "I wonder, though, what were you hoping to find?"

She dropped her hands to her sides. "Was it you that night in the medical bay?"

He wasn't surprised that she skipped straight past the usual pleasantries. He took a few steps towards her, pleased when she didn't outwardly flinch. "I heard tell of a woman fighting with the Maquis who was so legendary that her entire arm was covered in marks from her Cardassian oppressors. Some stories even went so far as to call her the "Slayer of Camet." Naturally, I had hoped the stories were about you."

"You lied to me."

"There are quadrillions of people in this galaxy," he said. "I have lied to thousands of them. You are not one of the thousands."

She snorted. "What makes me so special?"

"I've never had reason to tell you anything but the truth."

"You said they would kill me when I was no longer useful."

"Ah." He thought back to the reports he'd read and how Camet had actually tried to convince him to visit more often. He'd only returned a few times after the unfortunate experiment on Twenty-five ended so poorly. He'd seen everything he needed to see. "Are you disappointed they let you live?"

"They kept me alive."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"There's a difference."

"And yet, you haven't answered my question."

It wasn't much more than a blink of her eyes, but she flinched. "I don't have to answer your questions anymore."

Garak inclined his head. "Of course, you don't." He sneaked a peak upwards and caught her eye. "But then, you never did when speaking with me."

"Perhaps." Janeway held his gaze for a moment before making the effort of looking around at the clothing displays surrounding them. "And now you're a tailor."

"Yes," he said, swallowing his usual distaste. "And you are…" He gave her a quick once over, sizing up the civilian clothing she wore. "I'm not exactly sure what you are these days. You aren't a prisoner, you aren't Starfleet, and forgive me for saying, but your clothing wouldn't last long on any of the Maquis vessels I've seen." His eyes lit up with delight. "Are you a spy?"

She frowned. "Technically, I'm an observer."

"A much more genial title," he allowed.

She ran her fingers along the soft material draped over the table at her side. "Why did they keep me alive all those years?"

"Despite their intentions, despite _everyone's_ intentions, you chose to continue living. That, I'm afraid, was your call, not theirs." He closed the distance between them until only the table separated them. "You may have been their prisoner, but they never completely controlled you."

Her features hardened. "They controlled me from the moment they captured me… the things they did to me; the things they made me do-"

"And yet you stand amongst the living and they do not," Garak interrupted. "You survived. It's what you do." He began straightening the stock that was immaculately folded on the table. "I'm not sure I understand your reluctance to accept that even after all these years. Starfleet declared you killed in action, the Cardassians tried to kill you for years, and even the Maquis left you for dead and yet you still draw breath. What exactly are you upset about?"

His speech had stunned her, and she'd actually stepped away from him when he rounded the table. "I guess I just want to know why I'm still alive," she admitted.

Garak stopped his busy activity and faced her. "And you thought a simple tailor would know the answer? I'm flattered."

She shook her head the ghost of a smile passing over her lips. "Was it you that night in the medical bay?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you," he admitted, "but I wasn't sure how you would accept seeing me so I kept my distance."

"I thought you were there to kill me."

"My dear, if that had been my purpose, you would have never known I was there."

They both knew he spoke the truth, but the moment passed as a noisy group of ship crewmen walked past the front of the store. She gestured vaguely to the rest of the station. "Do your friends here know about you? What you used to do; who you really are?"

"You assume I have friends," he countered, "how polite."

Kathryn couldn't help it; she laughed at his evasion and shook her head. "I don't know why I ever thought I'd get a straight answer from you."

"Why indeed."

"Well, I've got a ship to get to."

Garak pretended to return his attention to his stock. "Yes, I've heard _Voyager_ is the latest marvel amongst Starfleet's toys."

"How did you-" she started and then held up a hand. "You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"There's that intelligence I knew you possessed," Garak praised. Unexpectedly, he extracted a dark blue swath of material from the pile he was adjusting, and offered it to her. "I wonder if you would accept this scarf as a token of my appreciation."

Kathryn hesitated before allowing him to drape it over her hand. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It's the best a simple tailor can offer for pleasant conversation."

She ran the material through her fingers before slipping it haphazardly behind her neck. "I'll accept it, but we both know you are far more than a simple tailor."

"I can only hope my secret is safe with you."

She regarded him silently for a full minute before nodding. "It's a pleasant fiction."

"And we must always enjoy the pleasant things in life."

"Good-bye, Garak."

He inclined his head. "Until we meet again, Kathryn."

He didn't watch her reaction to his use of her given name and instead straightened the pile of folded scarves. When next he looked, she was gone.

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	27. Chapter 27

**Notes:** Alright faithful readers, it's the beginning of the end. This chapter starts the last 12k words. Hope you continue to enjoy!

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Kathryn paced the small confines of _Voyager_ 's brig cell. She shook out her arms and rolled her shoulders repeatedly but it wasn't helping. The clinging, crawling feel of claustrophobia was wrapping itself around her. It wasn't something she ever felt as a prisoner of the Cardassians. It was only after she was freed that confinement became intolerable.

The toe of her boot hit the bulkhead after only three paces; she almost screamed.

Closing her eyes and leaning back against the bulkhead, she tried to calm her breathing. She should've considered this possibility, but like always, she acted before she thought. The knuckles on her right hand stung, and she rubbed them. Even if she had considered the outcome, it probably wouldn't have stopped her. The bastard had had it coming. It hadn't exactly been a look of surprise on his face when she'd decked him.

The outer door of the brig opened, allowing two men to enter. She watched silently as they approached her cell. She could still see the split in Chakotay's lower lip – _Captain_ Chakotay.

Tom stood behind his left shoulder. "What the hell was that about, Janeway?"

She and Chakotay both ignored the first officer. Her hands were fists at her side, digging her nails into her palms in an effort to control herself. Chakotay noticed, a quick smile twitching his lips before he grimaced and ran his thumb along the corner of his mouth.

"You still have a hell of a right hook," he said finally.

"You should see my left," she retorted immediately.

"I have."

"I learned from the best."

Tom looked thunderstruck. "You two know each other?"

She frowned at Chakotay. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I figured your first officer," she jerked her head towards Tom, "wouldn't still want me on board if he knew how I felt about you."

"And how do you feel about me?"

Kathryn crossed her arms over her chest. "I think I've made my feelings very clear."

Chakotay looked down and tugged absently at his ear. "You're still upset about-"

"You're damn right, I'm upset!" she yelled, her control snapping. "You left me out there to die!"

"Commander," he said, looking over his shoulder at Tom, "would you give us a minute?"

Tom's mouth snapped shut and he nodded before giving his head a small shake. He turned and walked back out the door to the corridor.

"Didn't want your first officer to know your dirty little secret?" Kathryn sneered. "Don't want him to know that when push comes to shove his captain will leave him behind in order to save his own ass?"

"That's not what happened," Chakotay said quietly.

"Oh? So, I guess, I just imagined lying there in the rubble, defenseless, bleeding out, and watching you turn away and leave me."

He looked horrorstruck. "Wait, you saw me leave? I thought you were unconscious."

"Does that make a difference? You left me to die."

"I left you so that Starfleet would find you," he snapped, facing her squarely. "You would have never survived with the Maquis. Your injuries were too severe. Starfleet was on its way to the planet's surface, but they wouldn't enter the city until-" he stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I knew that if I left, they would find you. They'd be able to treat you."

She got as close as she could to the force field separating them. She'd heard the emotion in his voice; she didn't care. "You know who else was at the settlement that day, Captain? The Cardassians. They were the ones that found me first. They found my life sign. They recognized their brand on my arm." A shadow of the fear she'd felt in that moment when they'd found her had her grinding her teeth to hold it back. After a moment, her voice still betrayed her. "They were calling their ship to transport me out of there…they were going to take me back. If Starfleet hadn't arrived when they did…do you have any idea what the Cardassians would have done to me?"

"At the time, I didn't know they had ground patrols. I thought they were only…" He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry; it doesn't really matter what I thought," he said. "I was just trying to give you your best chance at staying alive."

"The Cardassians would've kept me alive," Kathryn promised darkly. "They would've kept me alive for a _very_ long time."

"You're right," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I just…I didn't want anyone else to die that day. Especially not you."

"There are worse things in this universe than dying, Chakotay." He held her gaze for a long minute before nodding. His tacit agreement mollified her somewhat and she remembered something else about that day, something she'd always wanted to know. "I, uh… I've never been able to find out… did we lose anyone that day? Did B'Elanna make it?"

"B'Elanna was fine." He actually laughed a little and rubbed his chin. "She actually punched me too when she found out I left you behind." He sobered. "Jason Hayek was the only Maquis we lost," he said, "but the settlement was decimated. Only twenty percent survived and a dozen or so were never accounted for."

She looked down at the deck; she couldn't bear to see his face when she asked, "Kolopak?"

Chakotay was silent for a moment, an answer in itself, before he said, "He didn't make it."

It was what she had long feared. "I'm sorry, Chakotay."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "We still have a mission to complete."

" _We_?"

He walked over to the control station. "If I let you out of there, will you promise not to hit me again?"

"No," she said, hating herself for uttering the truth. Her heart was still pounding in her chest from the burst of panic when he'd moved away from the forcefield.

"No?"

She slapped her hand against the bulkhead. "I have a quick temper and sometimes I act before I think, Chakotay. I don't want to lie to you; I can't promise anything."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Will you at least _try_ not to hit me?"

She shrugged. "Sure?"

"My security officer is going to love you," he muttered and input the commands to drop the force field.

She stepped out immediately and took a long indrawn breath before she remembered he was watching her. She felt her cheeks heat as blood rushed into them. "Thanks. Ever since…I get a little, you know."

"Claustrophobic?"

"Yeah." She tucked her hair back behind her ear. "So. Now what?"

"Now we go to sickbay and you get to explain to the doctor why your knuckles and my face need healing."

She glanced reluctantly at the cell she'd just vacated. "Maybe the claustrophobia wasn't so bad."

He chuckled. "You have the makings of great command officer material."

Janeway sighed and headed for the door. "I was never on the command track; I was a science officer."

"I know." Chakotay shrugged and followed her out. "There's plenty of time for change."

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	28. Chapter 28

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"Your doctor could use a personality adjustment," Kathryn griped as she walked out of sickbay with Chakotay.

"McCarthy isn't so bad," he said. "You just aren't exactly starting off well with him."

"Because I punched the captain?"

"Because you're Maquis," he corrected, "and speaking of that, we need to talk, but not here. Would you come with me to my ready room?"

Kathryn eyed the passing crewmen as they greeted their captain and held her tongue until she and Chakotay were alone in the turbolift. "They don't know, do they?"

"Bridge," he called. "Know what?"

"That you were a Maquis commander."

He didn't answer.

She whistled. "Holy Prophets."

The turbolift slid to a stop and a young, nervous-looking ensign hesitated at the sight of them before stepping onto the lift. "Good morning, Captain." He glanced at her. "Ma'am."

"Ensign Kim," Chakotay greeted then shot Kathryn a warning glare to play nice.

She smiled pleasantly. "You can call me Kathryn, Ensign. I much prefer it to 'ma'am.'"

Kim nodded quickly. "Of course, ma- Kathryn. Thank you."

She almost laughed but caught herself at the last minute. The kid's nerves were going to be fried before they left space dock. She considered telling him to relax but figured it wasn't her place. He glanced at her though and she caught him looking; she smiled at him.

If possible, he turned even redder. He was saved from having to comment by the turbolift doors opening, depositing them on the bridge. Kim practically jumped out of the lift to get out of their way.

Tom stood up from the command chairs. "Operations has cleared us for departure, Captain."

"Initiate launch sequence, Mister Paris," Chakotay ordered, motioning for Kathryn to wait at the rail.

Tom nodded to the young woman sitting at the conn. She reported, "Sequence underway."

Chakotay stood next to Tom for a moment, looking at the viewscreen. "Take us out, Lieutenant."

As _Voyager_ left the moorings of Deep Space Nine, Kathryn drank in the sight of the open stars that lay before them. She stole a glance at Chakotay, standing on the bridge of his starship, surrounded by Starfleet officers. He appeared completely at ease and in command. He'd always seemed that way to her. Always.

"Lay in our course, Mister Paris. Let's get started," he ordered.

"Aye, sir," Paris answered. "Course laid in."

Chakotay waited until they were in open space, gave Tom the order to engage, and watched the stars elongate as warp kicked in. He nodded. "Commander Paris, you have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room." He looked up at her for the first time since entering the bridge. "Kathryn?"

She followed him off the bridge and as soon as the doors closed behind them she asked, "Just how long have you been with Starfleet?"

"A while," he answered. "Would you like something to drink?"

"How long, Chakotay?"

He punched in the commands for two drinks from the replicator and placed them on the desk, pushing the coffee towards her. She ignored it. "Chakotay. How long?"

"I was reactivated just before the attack on Dorvan V."

"Reactivated?" She frowned. "What do you mean reactivated?"

He held her gaze. "Exactly what it sounds like."

Kathryn's eyes widened. "Is that what you were doing on that trip to Bajor? You were meeting with Starfleet?"

"Yes."

She sank into the chair in front of his desk. "I don't…but you were Maquis."

"I was Starfleet first," he admitted. "I joined when I was fifteen; I even had early admission to the Academy. More than a decade ago now I took a leave of absence so I could help the Bajoran Resistance."

"Why? Who were the Bajorans to you?"

"They were the only ones fighting the Cardassians. After the death of my mother, I was a very angry young man and I wanted to fight," he explained. "My father tried to dissuade me, said it wasn't our way."

She smiled faintly at the thought of Kolopak. "I can easily imagine him saying that."

"Well, I didn't listen to him and a group of us hooked up with a Bajoran resistance cell as soon as we could. After a few years, leading a cell in the Maquis was the natural progression. I started sending the information we were collecting about the Cardassians back to trusted sources within Starfleet. I was trying to make them see who they were really dealing with." He took a breath. "The mission to Bajor was to make my information gathering a more formal arrangement."

"And that's when they convinced you to turn your back on the Maquis," Kathryn said bitterly.

"No," he said immediately. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like, Chakotay?"

"In order for my testimony regarding Cardassian activity to be more impactful, I needed to be reinstated to Starfleet. Turning on the members of the Maquis was never part of the deal."

She scoffed openly. "You're not stupid, Chakotay. Eventually, you would have had to have given them information on us."

"Maybe," he allowed, "but turning over the Maquis was never my mission."

"Until now."

He didn't argue her point. "Just like you."

"No." She shook her head. "No, I was only ever going to lead this ship to some of the old, abandoned haunts. I could have easily claimed that I was out of the game too long to know where the new hideouts are. I was never going to turn on our friends."

"But then you found out I was the captain."

"Yeah and why is that? Why did you need me when you obviously have more recent information?"

"Tom suggested you; he knew about you because of his father, and he wanted to give you a second chance." He took a sip of his tea. "I had no reason to disagree."

"Except for our shared past that apparently your crew doesn't even know about."

"My past was never going to remain a secret." He shrugged. "If I could help you out of a bad situation by offering you a position on this ship, I wanted to do so."

"Tom could've known any number of people because of his father," she said. "How did you know it was me?"

"I know Major Kira from our days together in the Bajoran Resistance. We still stay in contact. I knew shortly after you arrived at Deep Space Nine who you really were. I was surprised," he admitted, "but I finally understood why you never talked about your family or your past."

She still didn't want to talk about them. "Fine. So, then what? You just up and left the Maquis for a captaincy and a shiny new ship?"

"I'd been reinstated at the rank of captain," he corrected mildly not rising to her barb. "But yes, about seven months ago, Starfleet recalled me. It was time to come in and present my testimony." He tugged at his ear. "Apparently, after some unconventional prompting, Starfleet started digging into some of the more classified files regarding the Cardassians." He'd seen the recording of her interviews at the penal colony; her suggestion that Starfleet take its head out of its ass had been rather blunt. "This time there were finally enough people willing to listen to the truth."

"This time?"

"Your father tried, Kathryn. He presented testimony regarding the incident on Urtea II." He cleared his throat. "It was determined to be a single occurrence and not a sign of regular activity."

Her knuckles whitened on the arm of the chair and she blinked rapidly. "Did my father…did he _know_ about me? Did he know I was alive? Did Starfleet-"

"No," Chaktoay quickly assured her. "No, the report he gave was about you and Admiral Paris' death. There was never any indication that you were still alive. They wouldn't have left you there if they had known."

She laughed shakily. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of that, I'm positive."

She wasn't. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and took a few steadying breaths. "Okay." She finally reached for the coffee; it was cooling but she needed the caffeine. "So why send you after the Maquis now? Why send you when they're finally starting to believe what the Maquis have been saying all along?"

"Starfleet had an officer working undercover on the _Val Jean_. He's missed his last two check-ins. Our mission is to find him and extract him." He sat down behind the desk. "They felt I would have the best chance of resolving the situation peacefully."

"When we find the _Val Jean_ , they will fight and try to run before you ever have a chance at diplomacy," she argued. "You know that better than anyone; you taught most of them that."

"We're going to broadcast our peaceful intentions on open channels," he conceded. "We'll tractor them or disable the ship if at all possible."

"And if it isn't possible?"

"That's a choice they're going to have to make, but the _Val Jean_ is no match for _Voyager_."

"Those are our friends, Chakotay." She got to her feet, leaning on the desk towards him as she spoke. "People we lived and bled with that you're so casually talking about fighting."

"Taking them into Starfleet custody will save their lives, Kathryn," he said. "The Cardassians are ramping up their efforts to clean up the Maquis problem. Our _friends_ will either be killed or taken prisoner, and you know as well as I do that their life expectancy as prisoners would not be long."

She paced away from him, worrying her chin. She shook her head. "They'd rather die."

"I know," he admitted, "but I'd rather they live."

"It's not your decision to make."

"Unfortunately, this time, it is. I'm the captain."

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	29. Chapter 29

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"May I join you?"

Kathryn looked up, startled to find Commander Paris standing at the side of her table. She did a quick survey around the dining area and saw hers was one of the few tables with only one occupant. It didn't really surprise her; she wasn't the easiest dining companion. Reluctantly, she nodded for Tom to sit and felt more than one pair of eyes drift away from the scene of the ship's first officer waiting to sit at her table.

"You and the captain seem to have come to some sort of truce," he said, settling into his seat.

She eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup as he picked up his utensils. "I suppose you could call it that." She frowned in disgust as he began mixing all his food together. "I don't cause any trouble, and he lets me stay out of the brig."

He caught her watching him and gave her his easy grin. "You may not remember it, but prior to New Zealand, we have met before."

The ghost of a smile passed over her features; she'd thought about him more than he could ever know. He'd been a cute, mischievous little boy running into his father's office, interrupting a meeting between her and the admiral; a blond-haired kid that had desperately wanted his father's approval. Oh yes, she'd thought a lot about him over the years. She'd wondered how different his life would've been if he'd grown up with a father. She'd even had a recurring daydream that he and Phoebe had met at some memorial for her and Admiral Paris and became fast friends, possibly even dated. But, of course, like so many things, that had been nothing more than fantasy.

She set her coffee cup down. "I remember."

He looked surprised. "You do?"

"Your father was my academic advisor as well as my commanding officer," she said. "I heard a great many stories about your exploits over the years."

Tom moved his food around with his fork. "Really?"

"Your father was very proud of you." Her smile was genuine when she added, "And anyone that spent time with him knew it."

The tips of Tom's ears turned pink. "That bad, huh?"

She shrugged and picked up her fork, stabbing a piece of fruit.

Tom seemed encouraged by her reply. "Do you think, maybe some time, I could talk to you about him? I mean, about what happened to him – to both of you."

The bite of melon quickly turned sour in her mouth and she swallowed thickly. "I don't like to talk about it."

He nodded quickly. "Of course not, I understand. I just was never sure…" He caught her eye and cut himself off. "Sorry. Never mind. Please, forget I asked."

Kathryn could no longer see the accomplished Starfleet commander sitting in front of her. All she saw was the little boy who must have always wondered what happened to his father. "What were you never sure of?"

He hesitated, but then asked, "We were told by Starfleet that my father died six weeks after the two of you went missing. Was that true?"

Janeway was sure the temperature in the room had just spiked about twenty degrees. She set her fork down. "No, that's not precisely true."

"Is he… _was_ he still alive when you were rescued?" he asked.

She pushed her tray of half-eaten food away and folded her arms on the table. "Why don't you just ask me what it is that you _think_ you want to know, Commander?"

If he heard the warning in her voice, he didn't heed it. "Is my father dead?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

She glared at him, her flat blue eyes assuring him that he was standing on thinning ice with her.

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Was my father with you the entire time?"

"No, I only saw him the day we were captured and on the day he died."

He swallowed painfully. "Were you with him when he died?"

She was in that room again, exhausted and scared. Cold and in pain. Confused at who the old man in front of her was.

"Kathryn?"

Her eyes flew open; the comforting lights and rumbling voices of an active dining hall filtered back into her awareness. Tom was sitting back, leaning away from her and the knife she held clenched in her fist. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and pushed the memory of that room back down to the dark recesses of her mind where it belonged.

"Sorry," she muttered, dropping the knife back onto her tray as nonchalantly as possible. She started to look at him when she answered and found she couldn't; she looked away. "Yes, I was with your father when he died. They wanted me to see it." She blinked several times. "The admiral…he didn't go easy."

Tom cleared his throat. "No, I wouldn't have expected him to." He moved the food on his tray around with his fork, although she doubted it was ever going to be eaten. "So, uhm, how long did he last? A couple of years?"

"Years?" She frowned and her eyes cut back to his. She shook her head. "No, Commander, he didn't last years."

"Well, I mean, I know he wasn't young or anything, but he was in pretty good health when he left Earth. Surely, he survived for a few months-"

"Eight weeks."

Tom blinked. "What?"

"Your father was dead within eight weeks of our capture."

He was silent; the food in front of him finally forgotten completely. "It only took them eight weeks to make him talk?"

"Make him talk?" She cocked her head to the side. "Tom, your father and I both told the Cardassians everything we knew within hours of being captured. The intelligence we possessed was only worthwhile if it was extracted from us in a timely manner. By the end of the first week, I had already told them everything I had ever been taught in Starfleet. Your father probably took a bit longer than that to debrief completely. As an admiral, he obviously knew more than I did."

Tom looked confused. "The Cardassians told Starfleet that they questioned you for three weeks. If you'd already told them everything about Starfleet in just a few days, what else did they question you about?"

"Everything," she said.

"Everything?"

She considered how much to tell him. "They wanted to know who I voted for, how I take my coffee, where my sister attended school, how many sexual partners I'd had…" She trailed off at Tom's expression, his blue eyes looking younger and more horrified by the second. "Everything," she repeated.

He coughed, cleared his throat, looked down at his tray. "Why would they want to know all that?"

She shrugged. "So they could use it against me."

"But your sister? Your lov-?" He wisely stopped himself. "They used all of that information against you?"

She thought about Justin and nodded. "In one way or another."

Tom was quiet for several minutes before he asked, "How did you survive for eight years and my father for only eight weeks?"

Kathryn's hand was steady when she reached for her coffee cup. "They only wanted to break him once."

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	30. Chapter 30

**Notes:** Because this one is short you get it early. It's kind of a necessary chapter. Thank you for continuing to read!

* * *

Kathryn had barely made her excuses and left the table, giving Tom a moment alone to regroup, when the hail sounded. "All senior officers to the bridge."

Then, "Chakotay to Janeway."

She stopped in the middle of the corridor and hit the badge on her chest. "Go ahead."

"Report to the bridge. We're approaching the Badlands."

Kathryn shook her head as she changed direction and headed for the nearest turbolift. She still wasn't sure what Chakotay expected of her. He knew the Badlands and the plasma storms better than she did. She'd kept her head down in Engineering as much as possible. It hadn't mattered to her where they were so long as the warp core kept pulsing. The lights of the turbolift flickered just before it slid to a stop and the doors opened to the bridge.

"-tetryon beam scanning us," the young ensign at Ops was reporting. "There's also a displacement wave moving towards us."

"A displacement wave?" Chakotay questioned as everyone on the bridge looked towards the swirling red skies of the Badlands. "Analysis."

Ensign Kim shook his head as his fingers flew over the console. "It's some kind of polarized magnetic variation, Captain."

"Disperse it with a graviton particle field," Kathryn blurted out, catching Chakotay's attention.

He nodded to the lieutenant at Tactical. "Rollins, do it."

"Lieutenant, move us away from the wave," Tom ordered the helm, joining Chakotay on the lower level of the bridge.

"Particle field had no effect," Rollins reported.

"Wave will intercept us in twelve seconds."

"All hands brace for impact!"

Kathryn ducked behind the Tactical console and dropped to the deck as the displacement wave hit the ship, blinding the bridge with white light and hurtling the intrepid vessel end over end. She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she coughed herself awake. The scent of scorched metal filled her nose as sparks erupted over her head.

"Report!"

There wasn't an immediate response to Chakotay's barked order. Kathryn rolled up to a sitting position, ignoring the throb in her shoulder. The bridge was in shambles, but she saw figures moving within the smoke and sparking conduits. Tom was sitting at the helm, and it appeared the young lieutenant that had been piloting was now dead. Kathryn looked to her right and saw the man called Rollins pushing himself up from the deck.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded and they both pulled themselves up using the console and bulkheads for support. The static-filled viewscreen began to clear, and silence fell on the bridge as everyone took in the sight of a huge and unfamiliar space station. As they watched, some sort of energy pulse fired from the station into the open space opposite them.

Kathryn immediately recognized the little Maquis ship that she had spent so much time on moored motionless next to one of the station's long arms. She wanted to know its condition, but the ensign at Ops had his hands full as Chakotay barked at him for an explanation.

"Captain, if these sensors are working, we're over seventy thousand light years from where we were," Kim reported. "We're on the other side of the galaxy."

Chakotay looked over his shoulder at the news, not at the ensign, but at Kathryn instead. She stared back at him. Finally, he said, "Mister Kim, scan the Maquis ship."

"No life signs," Kim reported, "and our sensors can't penetrate the station."

"Engineering to Bridge! The Chief's dead and we have severe damage down here. We're possibly facing a warp core breach."

"Secure all engineering systems. I'm sending you some help," Chakotay said. He nodded to Kathryn as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Kathryn, get down there and see what you can do. I need this ship to stay in one piece."

She nodded. "Just like old times."

As she moved towards the turbolift she heard Kim reporting that there was no answer to any of the hails. Tom jogged up the ramp and appeared at her side as they waited by the doors. She looked up at him when they entered the lift and he called for deck five.

"Sickbay isn't responding," he said by way of explanation.

"Are you a medic?" she asked.

"I might be today," he said and looked sideways at her. "Are you an engineer?"

"The captain seems to think so," she replied as the lift slid roughly to a stop. "Good luck in there."

"You too," he replied and hustled down the corridor.

She'd taken no more than two steps into engineering, wondering how bad it was, when the computer helpfully reported, "Warning. Warp core microfracture. Breach imminent."

"Shit," she muttered and caught the arm of the first engineer she found. "We have to lock down the magnetic constrictors."

"Who are you?" the engineer asked then continued with the more important information he possessed. "If we lock them down at their current pressure, we might not be able to reinitialize the dilithium reaction."

The computer blared another warning.

"We don't have a choice! Do it."

The redheaded man, who she learned was named Carey, was a competent engineer, and they worked together frantically for several minutes until all systems were stable. He grinned at her as they finally took a moment to breathe. "Glad you were here to help."

She laughed with relief and tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Bridge."

There was no answer; she and Carey both frowned. Carey reached for his badge but vanished into thin air before he could open a channel. Kathryn looked around engineering and saw that it was quickly emptying of all personnel. "Computer, initiate emergency lock down."

She thought she heard the computer acknowledge her command before she, too, disappeared off the ship.

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	31. Chapter 31

**Notes:** So, Caretaker happened.

* * *

"That was a hell of a speech you made on the bridge today, Captain," Kathryn said as Chakotay took the seat across from her in the mess hall.

It had been several long and interesting days that had left them all a little punch-drunk, but they were still flying and slowly but surely pulling themselves back up. Chakotay flushed slightly. "And I meant every word."

"Really?"

He looked sideways at her. "Was there a particular part of it that you doubted?"

"Not your sincerity," she allowed, "but the part where we're all supposed to get along and work together as one crew." She saluted him with her coffee cup. "That may take more than a motivational speech."

Chakotay rubbed the back of his neck. "We're going to have to. Neither crew has enough people to go it alone even if Mike hadn't crashed the _Val Jean_."

"I'm sorry about your officer," Kathryn offered. "B'Elanna said he died during the initial displacement."

Chakotay nodded his appreciation. "According to his file, Cavit was a good man. I'd never worked with him personally, but that wave that brought us here was hard on both crews." He glanced around the dining hall. "We're all we've got out here. We're going to have to rely on each other." He sipped his tea and grimaced, throwing a look towards the furry Talaxian serving food from behind the counter. "I'm going to need your help, too, you know."

"My help?"

"You're unique. You've been both Starfleet and Maquis, yet you've never betrayed either of them."

She scoffed. "I think Starfleet would argue with you on that, or did you miss the part where they incarcerated me for two years?"

"Circumstances beyond your control propelled you into situations you had to adapt to." He gestured towards the viewports and the unknown space that lay beyond them. "Sound familiar?"

"Chakotay, I'm not a member of your crew," she argued. "I'm an observer."

"We don't have enough manpower for anyone to be an observer." He slid a small box across the table to her. "I want you to be one of my officers."

She eyed the box. "What's that?"

"Your new rank. Lieutenant commander, ship's second officer."

Kathryn still didn't reach for the box. "You don't have that kind of authority."

"I'm the top authority for Starfleet out here in the Delta quadrant. You've technically got the time in service and you've definitely got the experience to warrant the promotion." He chewed on a piece of bread. "I want you to cross-train – tactical and engineering. Rollins is a good officer but he lacks imagination. A little outside-of-the-box thinking is going to go a long way out here."

"What about all the required command classes?"

"It's a field promotion," he said, "but if you want to take the exams, all the material is available in the computer."

Her fingers toyed with the edge of the small box. "I was a science officer, you know."

"I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities for science and exploration as well, but for now, I need you to get B'Elanna up to speed in engineering." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're probably the only person she'll listen to, so try to keep her from killing anyone."

"Any objection to broken bones?"

He waved off her concern. "As long as it's nothing permanent."

Kathryn picked up the box and they both looked across the room to the table where a group of Maquis sat together. B'Elanna was there, dining with three other people, looking uncomfortable in the gold-and-black Starfleet uniform. Oddly enough, B'Elanna acknowledged Ensign Kim as he walked by and gave him a friendly greeting. Apparently, the two of them had made a connection down on the planet. It gave Chakotay hope for the rest of the crews.

"B'Elanna doesn't need my help." Kathryn turned her attention back to him. "She probably knows more about engineering than I ever did."

"But she doesn't know Starfleet. You do."

The woman sitting on B'Elanna's left laughed shrilly, and Chakotay watched as Harry blushed and quickly left the table. He felt a headache starting. Sighing, he looked back to his dining companion and noticed immediately that something was wrong. Kathryn's jaw was clenched and her hand gripped the small rank box with a white-knuckle grip.

"Kathryn? What's wrong?" Chakotay reached out and touched her hand.

She flinched at the contact and jerked back from him; her eyes flew open. "What?"

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned. "You went really pale."

She looked away from him and back to the table where B'Elanna sat. He heard her suck in an unsteady breath. "Kathryn?"

He was still waiting for an answer from her when she finally managed to shake her head. "It's nothing. Just a bad memory." She risked another glance at the table and frowned. "How well do you know that woman sitting with B'Elanna?"

He looked over and realized Kathryn was talking about Melia, a Bajoran female member of the Maquis. "I know her a little bit. She only joined the Maquis a short while before I was recalled." He looked at Melia again and didn't think Kathryn would appreciate knowing just how well he knew her. "Why?"

"Just seeing ghosts," Kathryn muttered. She shook her head. "She reminds me of somebody I met once a long time ago."

Chakotay didn't think Kathryn had any idea she was rubbing her hand over the Cardassian prisoner brand on her wrist. "A Cardassian?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Yes, how did you-? Oh." She dropped her hands to her lap. "Yeah, while I was captured."

"I'm guessing this woman you knew wasn't a fellow prisoner."

Kathryn shook her head. "No. No, the woman I knew was evil."

Chakotay watched as the muscle in Kathryn's jaw pulsed. He gave her a moment, knowing she was trying to compose herself. Once she'd been approved to be on his ship, he'd finally been authorized to access her file in its entirety. He still wasn't sure how she'd managed to live through everything she'd been through. "We can have the doctor scan her if it'll make you feel better."

"But you know her," she said, clearly confused. "And she's Bajoran."

"It's not unheard of for Obsidian Order members to infiltrate the Maquis." He didn't really expect the doctor to find anything; he certainly hadn't noticed any giveaways. "Even with cosmetic surgery, blood analysis could detect a Cardassian."

Kathryn frowned as Melia and B'Elanna got up to leave. She watched them as recycled their trays and went out the far exit. "Won't she think it's odd to be singled out by medical?"

He shrugged. "I won't single her out. The doctor wants to create files for all the new members of the crew anyway."

She seemed to finally relax. "Guess that means I'll have to report to sickbay as well."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to miss out on the fun of meeting the holographic doctor." He grinned. "His bedside manner is definitely something we should all have to experience."

* * *

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	32. Chapter 32

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* * *

Kathryn rubbed the back of her neck as she entered her assigned quarters. It had been another long day of repairs at the end of a long week of repairs, and _Voyager_ still didn't resemble a starship that had only been out of space dock less than six months. The trip across quadrants had been rough.

She toed off the newly-replicated boots, sighing in relief as she briefly massaged her instep. She didn't seem to possess any muscle memory whatsoever about wearing the uniform. Youth had its advantages, even when it came to the wearing of clothes. She shrugged off the command-red jacket that Chakotay insisted she wear as second officer, and tossed it over the back of the chair, hoping it would stay somewhat wrinkle-free. The turtleneck, though, ended up in a heap on the floor as she crossed to the replicator.

"Ice water, sixteen ounces."

She took a deep drink of the cool water as she dropped down onto her small couch. Her quarters were nicer than the standard fare since her status at their outset had been uncertain; she'd been considered a guest or advisor and given appropriate accommodations. It meant she got a window and no roommate. Considering she still had more than the occasional nightmare, it was probably fortunate that no poor soul had to try and sleep in the same room as her.

When she tried to prop her feet up on the coffee table, she noticed a problem; she couldn't lift her leg. She couldn't lift _either_ leg. She hit her thigh with her free hand, trying to massage some sort of feeling into it, but then she dropped her glass, spilling icy water all over herself and the couch. She stared at her hand and realized that the glass had slipped from her fingers because she could no longer move them. A heavy feeling was settling in her chest and her arms dropped limply to her sides.

"Computer! Medical emergency!" Her head dropped to the back of the couch, no longer able to hold it up. She swallowed and tried again. "Computer! Medical emergency!" The computer gave no acknowledging signal at all. "Computer! Janeway to medical." She heard the doors to her quarters slide open, but she couldn't lift her head to see who or what had triggered the door. "Is someone there?"

Ensign Melia walked casually into her line of sight. The Bajoran woman that was friends with B'Elanna knelt and picked up the empty drinking glass. She smiled. "Hello, Twenty-five."

Memories screamed as Kathryn watched the ghost from her nightmares rim the inside of the water glass with her finger. Kathryn swallowed, "Seska."

"In the flesh," Seska said, grinning. "More or less."

"Janeway to Chakotay."

"Oh, he won't hear you," Seska said as she crossed to the replicator and recycled the glass. "A dampening field engaged as soon as you stepped inside your quarters." She came back with an ion cleaner and began running it over the couch and the carpet where the water had spilled. "I hope you don't mind; I let myself in earlier and made a few adjustments to your replicator." She briefly ran the cleaning wand over Janeway's pants. "I instructed it to add a paralytic agent of my own design to any of your food and drink. Don't worry, it's not permanent."

Seska patted her cheek and Janeway growled, "Why?"

"Blood analysis. That nasty hologram wouldn't be put off forever, so I'm afraid I had to disable him for a little while." She paused and looked more closely at her captive audience. "I saw you in the mess hall talking to Chakotay. You just couldn't keep your suspicions to yourself. I knew then my time would be limited. It's a shame, really." She sighed. "Chakotay was quite the source of information for me while we were in the Alpha Quadrant, but out here? I don't really need him anymore." She sat down on the couch and trailed a hand down the side of Janeway's face. "I have you."

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"And I have the Kazon," Seska spat, wrapping her hand around Janeway's throat. "They'll be arriving any minute now. The Kazon are strong and they will make a powerful ally." She tightened her grip, cutting off Kathryn's airway. "Chakotay is too much like his Federation; he's weak. _Voyager_ won't last long out here in the wild. Everyone on this ship is going to die badly, and I don't intend to be around to see it."

Seska released her grip and paced away from the couch. "You're all weak."

"Weak?" Kathryn gasped between coughs as she sucked in the oxygen she'd been briefly denied. "You had to paralyze me…to take me on."

Seska's punch slung Kathryn's head to the side and bloodied her nose. Kathryn laughed and spit blood onto the couch. "Is that all you've got?"

The bulkheads of her quarters spun wildly as Seska dragged Kathryn up by her shirt front and threw her to the deck. Kathryn knew the kick was coming, but there was nothing she could do to get out of its way. The toe of Seska's boot sunk into her gut, driving the air from her lungs. A flurry of kicks landed, bruising her thigh, cracking a rib, and busting her lip; Kathryn rolled limply, absorbing the hits and unable to protect herself. Seska stomped down on the outstretched fingers of her left hand and Kathryn heard the crunch of bone, the burn of pain exploding beneath her skin. The Cardassian moved behind her and delivered a devastating kidney shot.

"Care to mock me now, Twenty-five?" Seska knelt down, resting her knee over the kidney she'd just kicked. "You do remember how this goes, don't you, Twenty-five? The more you resist, the harder you make it on yourself." She increased her weight, pressing Janeway further into the carpet, eliciting a gasp of pain. "That's a good girl." Seska pushed harder; Kathryn groaned. "You just needed to be reminded that you are pathetic and weak." The Cardassian leaned over her, and Kathryn felt Seska's lips brush against her ear. "When I'm done with you, you'll wish you had died all those years ago like you were supposed to."

* * *

"Captain, I've got a Kazon ship approaching," Harry reported from Ops.

"Raise shields," Chakotay ordered immediately, getting to his feet. "Go to red alert."

"Again?" Tom asked, standing beside him. "When are they going to learn?"

"Kazon ship firing!" Rollins reported seconds before the ship rocked violently, knocking Tom and Chakotay off their feet.

"Return fire!" Chakotay yelled, pulling himself up. "What happened to our shields?"

"Shields are still holding, but they blasted through them like they weren't even there, Captain." Harry's hands flew across his console as _Voyager's_ phasers fired. "Remodulating shield frequency."

Another strafing run streaked across _Voyager's_ underbelly; the ship shuddered slightly. Harry exhaled in relief. "Shields holding, Captain. The Kazon are retreating, and they've gone to warp."

"Damage reports!" Tom ordered. "Now, what do you think that was all about?"

"More importantly, how did they know our shield frequency?" Chakotay asked.

"Captain," Harry called from his station, "we had an unauthorized transport to the Kazon ship before I readjusted the shield frequency."

"What kind of transport?"

Harry shook his head. "Not sure yet, the readings are masked."

"Our saboteur making a run for it," Tom guessed.

"Computer, how many crewmen are unaccounted for?"

"Two. Lieutenant Commander Janeway and Ensign Melia."

"Well, both of them would've had access to engineering as well as the knowledge to mask their transport," Tom suggested quietly so only Chakotay could hear.

Chakotay was already shaking his head. "No, Kathryn would never endanger us like that, especially not with members of the Maquis on board." He looked up at Ops. "Harry, lay in a pursuit course. We can't let them get too far ahead."

"Engineering reports that we only have impulse power. That first blast knocked out our warp capability," Harry reported. "Repairs are underway."

"Damn it," he swore, making the young ensign uncomfortable.

"Captain, the Kazon don't have transporter technology," Tom reminded him. "The transport would've had to originate from here."

"I'm sure it did, Tom." He turned towards the security station. "Rollins, get security teams to the quarters of both of the missing officers. Start looking for anything out of the ordinary."

"So, maybe Kathryn and Melia chose to jump ship," Tom continued.

Chakotay eyed his first officer. "I think _one_ of them went willingly." He hit his comm badge. "Chakotay to the doctor." No response. "Chakotay to Sickbay, respond."

"Captain, this is Kes."

"Kes? Are you in sickbay?" he asked. "Where's the doctor?"

"He didn't activate when I entered or even when I called for him." She hesitated. "If I'm reading this console correctly, it says he is offline." Chakotay heard Tom order engineering to send a repair team to medical. "Sit tight, Kes. Help is on the way." He closed the channel. "Tom, pull up a roster of crewmembers the doctor has yet to examine. See if Melia's name is on there."

"Captain, engineering reports we'll have full warp capability in one hour," Harry reported.

"Andrews to Captain Chakotay."

He hit his badge again. "Go ahead."

"The security team has arrived at Ensign Melia's quarters, but we've detected an energy signature inside. Mister Ayala believes that if we access the quarters, there will be an explosion," Andrews reported, although his voice was clearly skeptical. "He says he's seen this sort of thing before."

"Hold your position, Lieutenant," Chakotay ordered immediately. "If Ayala thinks the doors are rigged – they're rigged."

"Aye, sir."

"What about Janeway's quarters?"

"The second security team is arriving there momentarily."

"Report to me if you find anything. Chakotay out."

Tom handed Chakotay the PADD with a scrolling list of names. "Ensign Melia and a handful of others haven't been to see the doctor yet."

Chakotay glanced at the list. His name was at the top, followed by Tom's, B'Elanna's, and three others including Melia. Surprisingly, Janeway's name was not on the list. "Given the surprise Melia intended for us to find in her quarters, I'd say she's our number one suspect for sabotaging the shields."

"Yeah, but why do this?"

"Because if Kathryn was right, Melia is not who she says she is." He looked gravely at Tom and handed him back the PADD. "Melia didn't report to medical because she didn't want to get scanned by the doctor."

"Why not?"

He hesitated but knew Kathryn had been right. He raised his voice so everyone on the bridge would hear him. "Ensign Melia isn't Bajoran; she's Cardassian and likely a member of the Obsidian Order."

Tom let out a low whistle. "And Janeway?"

Regrets and guilt were bubbling to the surface but Chakotay forced them back down. Those were emotions he was going to have to deal with later, _after_ they'd gotten Kathryn back. "We get her back, Tom."

"The Kazon might have allies, Captain," Rollins said from his position at tactical, "and we don't."

Chakotay turned towards the security officer. "You know that Vulcan saying about the good of the many?"

Rollins looked uncomfortable. "Yes, sir."

"It doesn't apply to Janeway or any true member of this crew," Chakotay said. "We won't leave anyone behind." He eyed Tom last. "I won't make that mistake again."

* * *

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	33. Chapter 33

**Notes:** Gets a little bumpy...

* * *

Kathryn didn't wake easy. White-hot pain seared across her arm, dragging her screaming into consciousness. Dark familiar laughter echoed in her ears as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

"The Kazon tools aren't nearly as sophisticated as Cardassian marking acid," Seska chuckled, lowering a hot, glowing rod, "but they'll do."

Kathryn's arms were restrained above her head and she had to crane her head around to see what the bitch was talking about. Seska had seared a new line into her arm, a vicious, puckering mark that diagonally crossed the width of her eight year lines. The burn seeped into her bones as beads of sweat rolled down her back.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Seska said conversationally, dropping the tool she'd been using onto a station beside her. "Since you experienced real pain?" She wiped her hands on a rag. "It used to take more than a burn to get a scream out of you."

And it would take a lot more to get anything else from her, Janeway vowed silently as her heart continued to thunder like a shuttle at warp. As her breathing slowed, more aches and pains from the beating Seska had delivered began to assert themselves. The dull ache in her abdomen accompanied the sharp stab in her side at every labored breath. Dried, crusty blood flaked her upper lip and chin, and there was a pulsing throb from her hand despite its restricted blood flow. The only upside she could currently find about her situation was that the paralysis had worn off. If she could get her feet under her, she could take some of the weight off her wrists and burning shoulders.

She could feel Seska watching her closely as she struggled to pull herself up. When she finally stood, she glared at her tormentor.

"Now there's the girl I know." Seska's dark eyes glittered menacingly.

Kathryn spat on the floor at Seska's feet.

Seska ignored it. "You know, there's one thing I've always wanted to know. Was it you?"

"Was _what_ me?" Kathryn ground out; her voice sounded like gravel on glass.

"The prisoner who killed Gul Camet," Seska said. "Was it you?"

She considered not responding, but it was one of her better memories. "Yes."

Seska's lip curled in a close approximation of a smile. "The bastard finally got what he deserved, then."

Kathryn didn't disagree, but it was an odd sentiment coming from a fellow Cardassian. "Deserved?"

"The way he doted on you and cared for you," Seska sneered. "It's only fitting that his faithful little mutt was the one that turned around and bit him."

"Something you should keep in mind," Janeway growled. "I still have teeth."

"For now." Seska chuckled again and turned to the tools on her cart. "Camet was a fool, but I learned one of the most basic rules from him." She faced Janeway and held up a jagged alien blade. "A subject must be stripped down to their very base before you can break them."

She fingered the left shoulder of Janeway's tank top. "You've almost made it too easy for me. I would've enjoyed cutting through those Starfleet colors you wore so boldly." She began sawing at the grey material. "Do you remember what was it like the first time you were stripped down to nothing? When you were the blushing young ensign being exposed to the realities of her new existence?"

Janeway knew the slow, methodical sawing was on purpose; a way to drag out the experience, and even still it was setting her teeth on edge. "No."

"I watched the recordings of it," Seska said, catching Janeway's look of surprise. "Oh? Camet never showed you?" She laughed and finished cutting through the strap. "You tried so hard to be brave as they grabbed and pawed at you, tearing away your precious uniform."

Seska stroked her hand down the length of Janeway's bare arm as she circled behind her. "You tried to hide your fear, but the quiver in your voice and the way you trembled gave you away." The blade nicked sensitive skin under Kathryn's arm as Seska cut through the side of the tank top's material. "They kept you on display for hours; everyone wanted to see the young Terran, and oh how they laughed at you. Do you know why?"

Janeway felt her move closer; Seska's hot breath was near her ear, but she stared straight ahead as the Cardassian whispered, "You soiled yourself like the little child that you were."

She couldn't remember any of what Seska was talking about. She only remembered the second time which, aside from the Starfleet uniform, sounded incredibly similar. She'd been stripped and fondled. There had been laughter then, too. She'd been forced to stand for hours on end, naked and on display, punished repeatedly for human frailties.

"I suppose I should thank you, though," Seska said, breaking into her spiraling thoughts.

It was an inadvertent blessing that Seska had taken her silence as apathy instead of the blank terror of memory. "Thank me for what?"

"Your sexual exhibitions, of course," Seska said. "Your performances were instrumental in helping me seduce Chakotay."

The conversation was slipping away from her. Kathryn's defense mechanism had always been to detach. Her mind desperately wanted to slide away into its old hiding place, but this wasn't a long term situation that she simply needed to outlast. She needed to stay alert, to be ready to act if an opportunity presented itself. She needed to throw up. "What about…Chakotay?"

Seska stepped in front of her, leaving one side of Kathryn's tank top gaping open. "I asked if you'd slept with him yet."

"What?" Janeway shook her head. "No."

"Really?" She laughed. "Oh, you would've enjoyed him." Seska insinuated her leg between Janeway's thighs, pressing upwards, briefly grinding against her, before withdrawing. "Chakotay knows how to pleasure a woman." Seska fingered the tank top's second shoulder strap. "A pity, really, for you."

The sawing was back near Janeway's ear like an annoying insect. She tried to ignore it and keep her thoughts pulled together. "You slept…with Chakotay?"

The tank top fell away, two pieces of gray cloth fluttering to the floor. "He and I were lovers," Seska whispered, stroking a hand across Janeway's abdomen and up her side. Kathryn tried not to flinch at the touch, expecting it, but she wasn't entirely successful; the cool, scaly touch struck a deep nerve.

Seska practically purred. "He would've liked your body."

Half the population of the ship wanted to sleep with Chakotay. It shouldn't bother her that Seska had. But it did. "He never would've slept with you if he'd known who you really are."

Seska grabbed her by the chin. "What would you know about it? Have you even had sex with anyone since you left Cardassian space?"

"That's none of your business," Kathryn snapped.

Seska laughed. "Well, I guess that answers my question, doesn't it?" She dropped the knife on the cart and circled behind her prey. "Do you remember Justin?" She settled her hands on Janeway's hips and pulled her body flush against her own. "Do you remember how he touched you?" She nuzzled Kathryn's neck. "Do you remember how it felt when he kissed you?"

Kathryn was trembling, a mixture of fear and rage at her helplessness. "Of course I remember him."

Seska's hands slid forward along Kathryn's abdomen, her long fingers spanned the entirety of bared skin. "If only you had slept with Chakotay," she breathed, "then you and I could have had two lovers in common." She slid out from behind Kathryn. "Justin was an excellent lover."

The surge of adrenalin and endorphins that had wrenched Kathryn back into consciousness were finally bleeding off. Exhaustion was starting to creep in, but pain and fatigue were old friends. She knew how to work through them. "You expect me to believe that Justin willingly-"

"In exchange for your continued safety, Justin was a generous instructor," Seska bragged as she dragged a finger over the sports bra Kathryn still wore. "He made love to me in a different position every day for six weeks. Half the intelligence I've acquired on behalf of the Order is due to that man's extensive instruction."

" _My_ safety?"

"Oh, poor Justin was under the impression I would hurt you if he didn't cooperate," Seska laughed. "He had no idea that you were already pregnant at that point, and I would have never harmed you physically."

"So," Kathryn moistened her lips, tasted the blood that had dried on them, "you coerced one man and another fucked you under false pretenses. Has anyone ever knowingly chosen to have sex with you? Or do you always have to deceive them?"

Half the instruments on the cart clattered to the ground as Seska grabbed the knife and thrust it against Kathryn's throat, nicking the skin. "Careful, little mutt."

"I guess that answers my question." Kathryn grinned and leaned into the blade. "Do it."

"Do what?" Seska snarled. "You want me to kill you?"

"No." Janeway's unflinching blue eyes met hers. "I want you to do whatever the hell it is that you've wanted to do me since the day we met. Fuck me and get it over with."

"What?" Seska stepped back, finally noticing her prisoner was no longer trembling.

"You heard me," Janeway said, her tone hard, biting. "Maybe if you get it out of your system, you'll finally leave me alone."

Seska scoffed. "I don't _want_ you."

"Sure you do," Janeway said. "You just don't have the guts to take me. Just like Camet always said; you're a little girl, too immature for her age."

Seska slapped her; Janeway laughed. "You really think that after everything I've been through, a little nudity and molestation is going to bother me?"

Seska slapped her again. "Shut up!"

"Why don't you go ahead and call the Kazon in? Maybe they'll actually have the guts to do something instead of stand around and talk."

"I said. Shut. Up." Seska brandished the knife at Janeway. "I will cut you."

"You're pathetic and weak." She spit in Seska's face. "Just like Justin told me you were."

Seska screamed and slashed at her, opening a cut diagonally across her upper chest. Janeway hissed through gritted teeth and then looked down as blood soaked into the top of her bra. She grinned. "Pathetic."

Seska lunged again, slicing another wound across Janeway's abdomen.

"Seska!" a male voice boomed. "What are you doing?" A heavy hand caught Seska by the wrist and threw her across the room, where she slammed against the bulkhead and crumpled to the deck.

"She's weak, Maje," Janeway said tiredly. "You shouldn't trust her."

First Maje Culluh of the Kazon-Nistrim stood in front of her. He eyed her. "I suppose you want me to trust you instead."

"I'm a stronger ally than she is. She tried to kill me and failed." Kathryn jerked at her restraints. "Twice. You really want someone like her standing by your side?"

He moved to the wall console and keyed in a command that released her restraints. "Clean yourself up," he commanded, "and then we will continue this conversation."

It was all she could do to stay on her feet without the support of the restraints. "What about her?"

Culluh grabbed a handful of Seska's hair, dragging her behind him as he headed for the door. "Worry about yourself, Starfleet."

* * *

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	34. Chapter 34

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* * *

"Approaching the Kazon ship," Harry reported.

"Hail them."

The viewscreen filled with a singular view of Maje Culluh's face. "Captain Chakotay," he greeted casually, "what brings you trespassing into Kazon-Nistrim space?"

"You have two of my officers aboard your vessel, Maje," Chakotay said not bothering with pleasantries. "Did you think we wouldn't come looking for them?"

"I'm not sure what officers you're talking about," the Kazon leader replied. "We detected a distress call originating from your ship. Two females requested that we help them escape from _Voyager_ ; we responded."

"I'd like to speak to them to confirm that, Maje."

Culluh gestured with two fingers over his shoulder and the viewscreen panned out, showing three more figures standing behind him. Two were Kazon, standing at consoles, manning their posts. The third figure was Janeway. She'd been leaning against a bulkhead, but when it became obvious that Chakotay was able to see her, she straightened.

She looked pale and tired, wearing an odd combination of her Starfleet uniform pants and a Kazon vest made of some sort of furred animal hide. She moved down a step so that she stood next to Culluh's side and crossed her arms over her chest, wincing slightly. Her fingers drummed angrily against her bicep. "You shouldn't have come after me, Chakotay."

Chakotay felt Tom stiffen beside him at the reproach. "Where's Ensign Melia?"

"She's unconscious in a cell somewhere below decks," Kathryn said, "and her name is Seska. Good, strong _Cardassian_ name."

Chakotay nodded. "Why is she unconscious? Has she been mistreated?"

"Only a little," Kathryn replied as she leaned against Culluh's command chair. "She thought she deserved to be First Consort to Maje Culluh; I presented him with a stronger option."

"I see. What about you, Commander Janeway?" Chakotay asked, watching her carefully. "Have you been mistreated?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." She rested her hand on the chair near Culluh's shoulder. "A little blood and sweat never hurt anyone."

Culluh laughed, drawing the attention back to himself. "You see, Captain. Your former officer is fine. I suggest you leave now while I'm still feeling generous."

Chakotay held Kathryn's hard gaze for a long moment before acknowledging the Kazon. "Very well, Maje."

With a gesture he had Harry cut the transmission. "Paris, move us away a safe distance and hold position."

Paris followed his order and then looked at Chakotay. "Captain, we can't just leave them there."

"Don't worry, Tom. We aren't going far." Chakotay slapped his comm. badge. "Chakotay to Torres, report to transporter room two. Let me know when you're there."

Starfleet had wanted him to captain this ship despite having been a Maquis leader. One admiral had even suggested that perhaps there were some Maquis tactics Starfleet could benefit from learning. He was about to put that theory to the test.

"Torres to Chakotay, I'm in the transporter room." She sounded a little breathless. "You mind telling me why?"

"Janeway is on a Kazon ship that we're going to be approaching at warp five. Harry will give you the coordinates." He nodded to the Ops station as he spoke. "They won't be expecting us; I need you to grab Janeway out of there as we fly past."

"Acknowledged," she answered immediately.

Harry sputtered, "You'll scramble her signal at that speed."

"Don't worry, Ensign," Chakotay assured him. "B'Elanna has done this sort of thing before."

"What about Melia…or whatever her name is?" Tom asked.

"She kidnapped Janeway and left an explosive device in her quarters for us to find; she gave the Kazon our shield frequency and left us exposed to attack." Leaving a Cardassian spy wasn't a decision anyone in Starfleet was going to like when they read that report, but given the situation, Chakotay could live with it. "She made her choice, Tom."

"And you're sure Janeway didn't also go willingly?" he asked. "She seemed pretty comfortable standing there next to the Maje."

"No, she wasn't, Tom." Chakotay shook his head. "Did you see the way she kept drumming her fingers? Against her arm? On the back of the chair?"

"Yeah."

"Did you notice a pattern to it?"

Tom shook his head. "No, I didn't…"

"I did. It was an old Maquis hand signal, and she just sent me a very clear message."

"What did she say?"

"She said 'get me the hell out of here.'"

* * *

Kathryn made it safely through the risky transport and was marched directly to sickbay by B'Elanna. They could both tell _Voyager_ was cruising at high warp, putting as much distance between themselves and the Kazon as possible. Once they entered sickbay, Kathryn was set upon by the holographic doctor. B'Elanna ignored him as he bustled around the biobed and continued explaining to Kathryn how they'd managed to rescue her.

"I synchronized the transporter's annular confinement beam with the warp core frequency," B'Elanna explained.

"That's a new trick," Kathryn replied, her voice betraying her fatigue. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

"I hardly think that is a wise idea," the doctor interrupted the women's conversation. "It would be in direct violation of Starfleet's safety protocols."

Kathryn and B'Elanna exchanged a look and shrugged their indifference in regards to Starfleet protocols. They both saw Chakotay come around the corner of the doctor's office and B'Elanna indirectly addressed him as well as the doctor. "Trust me, Doctor, as a Maquis, you don't always have the luxury of obeying protocols and standard procedures."

"Maybe not, Torres," Chakotay agreed, "but let's not make it a habit. Doctor, how's your patient?"

"She's fine," Kathryn growled half-heartedly, "and she's sitting right here."

"Fine is hardly the diagnosis I would make," the doctor snapped. "She presented with multiple lacerations and contusions, a bruised kidney, fractures in two of her metacarpals, a broken rib, and remnants of a chemical in her body that I can't even identify." He continued scanning her as he talked. "Also, I prefer to examine my patients in private, but Lieutenant Torres refused to leave. She disobeyed a medical directive to do so."

"Keep it up, Doc. I can decompile your program," B'Elanna said, eyeing the hologram.

"My program has already been manipulated outside of normal operating procedure once this week, Lieutenant." He looked towards Chakotay. "I would like to file a complaint against Ensign Melia for misuse of Federation property."

"Ensign Melia is no longer a member of this crew, Doctor, and I can assure you that Lieutenant Torres will not be decompiling your program anytime soon," he said tiredly.

"Thank you, Captain." The doctor preened, a smug smile on his face, until he saw the glares Torres and Janeway were giving him.

"There are other adjustments we can make," Torres promised.

"Excuse me, I need to retrieve the osteo-regenerator so that I can treat my patient," he said, moving himself quickly to his office.

"B'Elanna, could you give us a minute?" Chakotay asked. "I need to talk to Commander Janeway."

B'Elanna waited for Kathryn's nod of approval. "You want me to wait for you?"

"No, but thank you, B'Elanna," she said and gently grasped the younger woman's arm with her good hand. "For everything."

Never one comfortable with any show of emotion, B'Elanna nodded tightly and left.

"Quite the protector you've got there," Chakotay remarked.

"Just like Sveta said she would be."

"How are you?"

"The doctor gave me something for the pain so mostly I'm just tired," she admitted. She looked down at her hands. "Thanks for rescuing me; I wasn't sure you would."

"I learned my lesson the first time." He rubbed the corner of his lip where she had punched him. "Not that you needed much help. You looked like you were doing all right on your own."

She shrugged one shoulder and winced. "You, uh…you left Seska with the Kazon." It was almost a question.

"She made her intentions very clear when she left." He looked down. "The other option was to drag her back here and put her in the brig for the next seventy years. She would've been too dangerous to confine to quarters."

"But it isn't too dangerous to leave her out there with the Kazon?" Kathryn questioned. "She had plans, Chakotay. She could be a real problem later on."

"Kobayashi Maru," he said with a shrug.

"No right choice," she responded quietly.

"No good options," he agreed. "If she shows back up, we'll have to deal with her then. But speaking of plans, what exactly was your plan for getting off that ship?"

She managed a wry grin. "You witnessed the extent of my plan. If you hadn't shown up when you did, I wasn't sure what would've happened next."

"You'd have come up with something," he assured her. "Stolen a shuttle, kidnapped the maje, and blasted your way out of there."

Her grin softened. "Maybe."

The doctor reappeared from his office pushing a cart of medical instruments. "Captain, I really must insist that you leave now so I can treat my patient."

Chakotay raised an eyebrow in question at Kathryn. She nodded. "I'll be fine. As soon as he's done with me I'll be asleep in my quarters."

"You'll be asleep right here," the doctor huffed. "I need to keep you under observation until that chemical clears your system."

Chakotay nodded his acquiescence to the doctor and inclined his head to Janeway. "Commander, once you're feeling up to it, I look forward to reading your report of the events."

"I'll get right on that," she said dryly.

"She's off duty for the next two days, at least, Captain," the doctor interjected. "You can get your report after I clear her to return to duty."

"Of course," Chakotay said gamely. "I'll take my leave. Commander, I'm glad you're okay. Doctor."

"Good night, Captain," Kathryn replied, inclining her head.

She didn't see him leave as the doctor moved into her line of vision. "Finally, a moment of peace when I can actually practice medicine. Would you mind terribly if I treated you now?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do I need to be awake for this magical healing process, Doctor?"

He considered. "No. I'll mend the breaks in your hand and ribs and then clean up the myriad of contusions, treat you for any infectious-"

"Fine." She cut him off and laid down on the biobed. She thought she could easily sleep for a week. "Let's get it over with."

"One question, Commander," he said, catching her before she could close her eyes. He gently lifted her arm. "What would you like me to do about these?"

She eyed the fresh burn across her eight lines. It was ugly and not something she needed to ever see again. She couldn't understand why the hologram would question her about the wound. "Heal it?"

"Yes, I assumed you would want me to heal the fresh wound," he replied tartly. "What about the other lines? It's my understanding you did not receive them willingly. Do you want to keep them?"

Kathryn frowned. "I was told they couldn't be removed."

He sniffed derisively. "Perhaps it was beyond the skill of your previous physician, but it's not beyond my skill."

Her heart was thundering in her chest; she felt breathless at his suggestion. She stared down at her arm, flexed her fist and watched the skin stretch and move. The eight black lines appeared faded underneath the dark red burn.

"Well, Commander," the doctor asked, "what do you want to do?"

* * *

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	35. Conclusion

**Notes:** Well, this is it. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to get those little notes of encouragement and to see the view counter increase, telling me people are still reading. Hope you enjoyed it, and now I need to go check the box that says 'complete'.

* * *

Late night walks had always brought Kathryn a sense of comfort, setting a pace and stride, covering distance while she let her mind wander. She'd worn a path into the ground at the penitentiary, and the decks of _Voyager_ were quickly becoming well-mapped in her mind. Unfortunately, her stroll this evening had done nothing to calm her thoughts. Or more accurately, one particular thought that kept resurfacing and wouldn't let her rest.

It was that thought that had brought her to deck three. She stood staring at the doors to the captain's quarters. It was late; she shouldn't bother him. Her hand rang for entrance.

His reply was almost immediate. "Enter." Chakotay was seated on the couch, a PADD held loosely in his hand. He got to his feet at the sight of her. "Commander, is everything all right?"

She shouldn't be here; she gestured towards the interior of his quarters. "May I?"

"Of course." He indicated the replicator. "Can I get you anything?"

Kathryn shook her head. She remained standing as close to the doors as she could without triggering them to reopen. Her hands were balled into fists at her side.

Chakotay waited, a hint of amusement betraying him as he watched her stand there. He checked the time on the antique clock he had on the book shelf. It was past midnight. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was just read-"

"Is it true?" she blurted.

He froze and tried to recall anything that would give him a clue as to what she was referring to. He had nothing and he slowly dropped his hand back to his side. "Is what true?"

She felt the heat of blood rushing into her cheeks. "Nothing. Never mind. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Kathryn, wait!" He had to rush forward to catch her arm before she could leave. He laughed, trying to set her mind at ease. "You want to tell me what this is all about? I'm not a mind reader, you know."

"It's nothing," she said quickly, moving away from both him and the door. "It's none of my business, and I shouldn't have come here."

"Well, you haven't bothered me. My door is always open so you should definitely come here," he said. "And until you ask me something, I'll have no idea if it's any of your business or not."

She stared at him. His completely relaxed posture as he leaned against his desk was in direct contrast to hers. It wasn't fair. "Seska said the two of you were lovers."

It was clear by the expression on his face that her statement had not been anything close to what he'd been expecting her to say. He blinked several times. "I see."

Kathryn waited for him to say more. He didn't. "That's not exactly a denial, Chakotay."

He shifted his weight and wouldn't look at her. "Well, I never would have classified us as 'lovers.'"

If he'd been looking at her, he would've seen her flinch at the admission.

"I mean, we never even made it to a bed," he continued, oblivious to her reaction. "It was more of a release than anything. She found me one time in the cargo bay after a pretty intense battle that we barely escaped, and we ended up against a bulkhead. There were a few other times-"

"Please, stop." Kathryn held up a hand and then balled it into a fist when she realized she was shaking. The truth hurt, more than she wanted to admit, and more than she expected. She kept her fist in front of her mouth. "You said before that you didn't know her, that she'd only been with the Maquis for a short while before you left."

Her plea had recaptured his full attention. "It's true, and clearly, I didn't know her very well at all."

"And yet you did _that_ with her."

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then asked, "What's this all about, Kathryn?"

She paced back and forth a few steps. She was already here; she was committed. "I was with the Maquis for years, Chakotay." He nodded and she tried to find the right words. "Seska seemed genuinely surprised when I told her that we hadn't…that you and I… _weren't_ lovers."

"Ah. Well, when we rescued you, it was after you'd been in a Cardassian prison for eight years," he said, sounding uncomfortable for the first time. "I didn't think you'd be interested in that sort of activity."

"Well, no, I wasn't," she admitted hastily. "At least, not for a while."

"And by the time you might have been interested," he continued, "it had been long enough that I'd gotten to know you."

If the evening became any more truthful, she thought she'd throw up. He'd gotten to know her and didn't want her. She nodded tightly. "I understand. I'm sorry I brought it up. We'll just, uhm, call it a night then."

He blocked her path to the door before she could make an escape. "Kathryn, I could've never had a casual fling with you," he said quickly. "I'd gotten to know you, and getting involved with you would have committed my entire heart and soul. We weren't living in a world where I could afford to have that sort of distraction. It wouldn't have been fair to you; it wouldn't have been fair to our crew."

At some point while he'd been talking, he'd put his hand on her arm. She could feel the warmth of his grip through her sleeve. It made what she had to say even harder. "The Delta Quadrant isn't exactly a place where you can have distractions either."

"Well, not right now," he admitted, "but we just got here."

She didn't know what to say to that so she just nodded. Chakotay was grinning at her mute reaction. It wasn't often she had nothing to say, but as she watched him his grin faltered, morphing into a sweet but sad expression she didn't understand. "What is it?" she asked.

"You were one of the last things I spoke about with my father before…" he trailed off. They were both painfully aware of the events that happened next. He cleared his throat. "He could tell I was interested in you. He told me I was being contrary for fighting it. I tried to explain the situation to him, but he just brushed me off and said that you were acting stubborn too. He even suggested that we were clearly perfect for each other because neither of us would ever be willing to let the other go if we ever made a go of it."

Kathryn could easily imagine Kolopak grumbling those exact words. "Because we're both stubborn?"

"And contrary."

"Well," she said with a watery chuckle, "he wasn't wrong."

"No, I don't imagine he was," he agreed then sighed. "It just can't be right now."

"No, not right now," she agreed. It was time for her to go, but she knew that sleep would no longer be a problem. "Well, Captain, if you'll excuse me, I have the early shift in the morning."

"Of course." He stepped aside so she could move towards the door. "I'll see you on the bridge."

She paused at the threshold and looked up at him. "Good night, Chakotay."

"Good night, Kathryn."

She stepped out into the corridor and headed for the turbolift that would take her down to her deck and the quarters she'd been assigned. Her chaotic thoughts from earlier had drifted into a calm stream. She had two engineering proposals from B'Elanna that she needed to review in the morning, and the afternoon was going to be filled with security drills on the holodeck. Tom had also promised to help her prepare for the Bridge Officer's test as well as regaining her pilot certification.

As the turbolift moved smoothly between decks, she thought about the eight dark lines that spanned her forearm. They were covered by her uniform sleeve, but she knew they were there. It had been her choice to keep them. They were part of her past; a visual reminder, should she ever need it, that she was stronger than those that had tried to hurt her. But for the first time in a long time, Kathryn was thinking about something besides her past. She was focused on the future.

 _Voyager_ was a single ship, lost in the Delta quadrant. The stars they sailed through were unfamiliar, but she actually felt hopeful about their chances. After so many years, Kathryn Janeway finally felt like she was free.

The End

* * *

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End file.
